


Musketeers Revisited

by Musketball1



Category: The Musketeers (2014)
Genre: Angst, Hurt d'Artagnan, Whump, d'Artagnan Angst, d'Artagnan Whump
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-02-04
Updated: 2020-04-12
Packaged: 2021-02-27 19:14:32
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 26
Words: 41,072
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/22560817
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Musketball1/pseuds/Musketball1
Summary: What if Aramis didn’t warn D’artagnan in time for Gaudet’s sword to claim him?  Some original Musketeer adventures during the season one timeframe, interspersed with some slightly AU season one events, heavy on the D’art whump…I own nothing.
Relationships: d'Artagnan/Constance Bonacieux
Comments: 83
Kudos: 122





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> I've got most of this written, already 22 chapters. As you go through it, you'll notice at times I've blatantly stolen some plot devices from other fanfics, as I've been a fan of many other authors in this universe for years now. Comments appreciated! I'm completely new to all of this, so I don't even know how often I'll update, but since so much is already written, it should be pretty often. PS- I own nothing!

Musketeers Revisited

Chapter 1

They had cut it close, oh so close, that now that Gaudet’s men had all been dispatched by Porthos, Aramis, and this young new firebrand named Charles D’artagnan, there was no time to waste.

It had taken longer than expected in the planning, and now having ambushed the men, Athos’ life now hung in the balance; his impending execution was now just hours away.

Aramis and Porthos barely had time to register the young Gascon’s performance, but had they done so they would have realized how much they marveled at him disabling three of Gaudet’s crew, with only a sword, when the rest of them were armed with swords as well as muskets.

There was time enough to yell at Constance to get the hell out of there, to safety, after she shot one of them, about to send D’artagnan to his death. She reluctantly did so; surprisingly, her residual fear was more for D’Artagnan’s continued safety, than for her own, as the brutal scene played itself out in front of her.

Once D’artagnan had thrust Gaudet off of his feet, ready to deliver a deadly strike with his sword, Aramis screamed, “NO, D’artagnan! We need him alive to exonerate Athos!”

Aramis doubted that the angry, grief-stricken young man would heed his words. He watched as Athos’ life hung in the balance, as the reckless boy was about to seal his friend’s fate.

To his surprise, Aramis witnessed this livid young man obey his command.

“I’d rather see you hang,” the young man spat out.

The next few moments were spent collecting themselves, and confirming there were no more of Gaudet’s men lurking about, when suddenly Porthos and Aramis came upon the purloined Musketeer uniforms. They furiously began collecting them, now intent to rescue their friend from the muskets of his jailers.

Concentrating on collecting the uniforms, Aramis’ heart caught in its throat when he glanced over to where Gaudet had been on the ground.

Had been.

It was too late. All he could manage was yelling out ‘D’art-’ before Gaudet had regained his footing, and lunged at an unsuspecting D’artagnan, whose back was to the Athos impersonator.

Gaudet plunged his sword, retrieved from the ground in front of him, directly into D’Artagnan’s back.

Porthos was there a moment later, promptly killing Gaudet with one swift blow of his sword. Now that they had the Musketeers uniforms as proof of their involvement, Gaudet’s miserable life need not be spared in order to save Athos.

Aramis ran to D’artagnan, who had collapsed almost immediately.

“Hold on, D’artagnan, hold on…”

“It’s- bad, i-isn’t it?”, D’artagnan spit out.

Aramis, too honorable a man to lie to the boy, simply smiled and said, “We’ll get help.”

However, as D’artagnan was as keyed into the timing of Athos’ rescue as well as they were, he croaked out, “Go rescue Athos. Please. D-don’t let me have died in…vain…”

Porthos whispered to Aramis, “We gotta go _now_ , Aramis.”

Aramis winced at the truth of it. Sadly, the boy’s own keen assessment of his fate, combined with Athos’, made Aramis aware that both Porthos and the dying boy were right.

And it was bad- D’artagnan would bleed out in minutes- minutes they did not have, less their older brother Athos, was to be killed in a hail of musket shells.

They needed to divide and conquer; even before the ambush, the plan was for Porthos to head directly to the Chatalet where Athos was being held, in order to delay the execution. Now, he could even bring with him one of the stolen Musketeer uniforms, along with the news that Aramis was on his way to the Palace as we speak, to receive the formal pardon that was sure to come.

Aramis was the better candidate to do the necessary talking to the King, so it made sense for each Musketeer to be the ones to be dispatched to each location, each with their own crucial chore; however, both would be impeded were they to drag D’artagnan, who could not ride, with them.

It would not even be an issue if Aramis hadn’t already diagnosed D’Artagnan’s wound as a mortal one; there was no doubt to him that it was.

“We’ll come back for you,” Aramis said to D’artagnan, a true enough statement. Left unsaid was that it would be to retrieve his body.

D’artagnan managed a smile before he slipped away.

Aramis and Porthos exchanged glances. There was no time for grief. Not unless they wanted to also mourn Athos on this day. They were both off, each one to accomplish their part in saving their friend. Yet why did it feel as if it was one of the most ignoble acts of their lives?


	2. Chapter 2

  
Success! Athos was a free man. Porthos convinced the powers that be to delay two hours until Aramis could arrive with the promised pardon. At the palace, Captain Treville happened to be present on the King’s business, so Aramis filled him in on the events leading to Gaudet’s death, including how the young Gascon boy had perished in the altercation. The pardon of Athos was quickly secured. 

As the newly released prisoner passed Aramis and Porthos, he smiled wistfully. “I thought I had finally shaken you two off.”

“Believe me, there are easier ways,” Porthos replied cheerfully.

Aramis interjected: “Athos, you should know something. That boy who ran into the Garrison the other day, accusing you of murdering his father. He was instrumental in helping us prove your innocence.”

“Then it appears I owe him my thanks. And perhaps a drink.” 

Athos’ brother’s faces were stern enough to know there was something they weren’t saying.

“Gaudet- that’s the name of the man who was masquerading as you- he- he killed the boy,” Porthos offered.

“Porthos avenged him by killing Gaudet,” Aramis quickly added.

Athos hesitated before adding, “It is a fine thing that you killed him, then; as that man murdered two generations of- what was his name?”

“D’artagnan. Charles D’artagnan.”

“Two generations of D’artagnans. Unless the boy had siblings.” 

“During our travels, we learned that his mother is long gone, and he was an only child.” 

Aramis realized that Athos was still reeling from his own little adventure, which just had him staring at his own mortality.

“Let’s get you out of here.” 

  
When they told Athos about D’Artagnan’s demise, and that they felt it was the least they could do for the boy to recover his body and provide a decent burial, it surprised neither Porthos nor Aramis at all that Athos was determined to accompany them.

Upon arriving at the scene of the battle, they quickly found D’Artagnan’s prone form, as they had left him, more or less.

The boy was ashen, not as cold as Aramis had expected, but he did not feel a pulse.

“The devil,” Athos muttered. He looked over at Gaudet’s corpse, cursing it.

Hoping against hope, Aramis had foregone the checking of D’Artagnan’s pulse, realizing that if the boy still lived, it would be weak indeed. So he simply placed his index finger underneath the boy’s nose. Just a formality, of course; but he felt he owed the boy that much, to be certain. 

Wait a minute. Was that just the breeze, or-

“I- I think he lives.”

_“What?”_ Porthos yelled.

“I- yes, he’s still alive, by God’s good grace. Quickly- I truly don’t know if he has five more minutes left, or five seconds.” Aramis scanned the horizon. “We must find the closest home. The Garrison is too far away.”

Luckily, Aramis never comes unprepared. Even though they were clearly expecting this to be a recovery of a body, Aramis bought enough rudimentary medical supplies that might help save the boy.

But not here.

“There are some homes just along this way,” Athos offered.

“Let us hurry then!” Porthos yelled.

  
Earlier that day, back at the Garrison, around the same time that Athos was being rescued by Aramis and Porthos, Treville was returning from the Palace.

Constance Bonacieux, still reeling from the day’s events, was in a fog. Having returned home from the scene of the battle, where she (at D’Artagnan’s urging) dressed as a prostitute (so soon after that same damned boy had intimated that she dressed like one!), then killed a man to save that same boy’s life, found herself home alone. She suddenly remembered her husband Jacques had left that morning on a short business trip.

It made her decision to rush back to the Garrison easier. Nothing to have to explain to her enquiring husband.

She just had to know: had everything turned out alright?

(Translation: was _he_ alright?)

What was wrong with her? How, or why, did she let this brash, young, infuriating young man get her to do as he bid, making her feel both angry, put out, and at the same time, thrilled? Why had virtually every waking moment since she met him been filled with thoughts and visions of him- his piercing eyes, his scent, his audacity?

He really was handsome. God, she wished she has someone with whom she could talk to about him; certainly her current bevy of friends and family wouldn’t understand.

Perhaps only Celeste, her childhood best friend and confidante. Unfortunately, she had moved away with her own husband several years ago. 

Ever since that stranger kissed her in the street, and then fell unconscious, at which point she had her neighbor help carry him upstairs to her and her husband’s home, strip him of his shirt to check for injury and place him in her extra bedroom, he was on her mind. 

When she saw Treville, she knew enough to know that he was the Captain in charge. Certainly he would know what had transpired?

“Captain?”

“Madame?”

“I was there earlier when the Musketeers and the young man D’artagnan were going after the men who were framing Athos. I was urged to leave but- I was wondering if you knew of their fate. Did they get them? Are they all safe?”

Treville was taken aback slightly, not knowing of this young woman’s involvement.

“The two Musketeers are fine, madame; they are seeing to Athos’ release as we speak. So all is well.”

Constance sighed in relief.

Treville then recalled what Aramis shared at the Palace regarding the young man’s fate.

“I’m afraid, however, that the young man you must be referring to, madame, did not make it.”

Wait. _What?_

“Didn’t make it- _where?_ ” she asked, now confused and nervous.

“Apologies, madame- the Musketeer Aramis informed me that the young boy was killed in the altercation.”

Constance felt as though she had been punched. She couldn’t breathe.


	3. Chapter 3

Joseph and Caroline Baudry were enjoying a simple day together when a thunderous pounding came upon their front door.

“Who on earth-“ Joseph complained at the rude knocking.

He was greeted by a huge dark man in a Musketeers uniform, holding what appeared to be an injured young man. He was accompanied by two more Musketeers.

“Begging your pardon, monsieur,” one of them said calmly, betraying a mood more reserved than the others. “We have an injured- comrade and we need a place to treat him. We implore you if we could use your dwelling temporarily. He is gravely injured.” 

“Let them in, Joseph!” Caroline quickly urged. “Can’t you see he is badly hurt, the poor boy?”

After Joseph nodded his assent, his wife urged them upstairs. “I’m sorry but there are no bedrooms on this floor- can you carry him upstairs? To the left- that was my son’s room.”

Before anyone could say anything, Porthos took the stairs two at a time, even with the insensate boy in his arms.

As Aramis smiled, nodded and tipped his hat to the couple, he quickly followed Porthos up the stairs. Athos, figuring the two had things in hand, lingered downstairs for a moment.

“My son is in Lyon now with his wife. We don’t see him as often as we would like.”

“We appreciate your generosity in allowing us to intrude so suddenly.”

“May I ask how your friend was injured?”

Athos didn’t want to contradict Joseph; while the boy was no friend of his (indeed, his last real interaction with him was at sword-point), nevertheless he didn’t wish to confuse the issue for this generous couple.

“There were some criminals that he helped catch that injured him.” No need to alarm anyone that the criminals he mentioned were now dead.

As Caroline’s maternal instincts kicked in, she found herself trouncing up the stairs as well.

The scene was chaos.

The two Musketeers had stripped D’Artagnan’s shirt off, which was a dusty and bloody mess. The dried blood on the boy’s back was not apparent on his front torso; the sword did not penetrate all the way through.

Aramis was already working on closing up the wound in the boy’s back, but as the battlefield had been dirty and muddy, it would be critical to get the boy clean if there were any chance at staving off infection.

It took what seemed like forever to stitch the boy up; when he was finished, Aramis had to ground himself to the bed in order to regain his senses.

Already the room was a complete mess of blood, mud, and dirt. 

“Apologies, madame, as we will definitely be in need of providing you the services of a cleaner, and launderer,” Aramis had the presence of mind to say.

“Nonsense. And his clothes seem to be beyond cleaning. I will gather a set of replacements for him. My son left behind some clothing that no longer fit him. But first, some water- for your friend as well as the three of you. You all look exhausted!”

“My thanks.”

During this exchange, D’artagnan moved not at all.

Joseph showed up with a water pitcher, as well as a few goblets, clearly sent by his wife.

“Let’s try to get him to drink- now that his wound is treated, he needs to begin the process of regaining his strength and replenishing the blood he has lost.”

“I’ll try to prop ‘em up,” Porthos said.

As most of the water ended up on the bedsheets, Aramis did his best to get the boy to drink as much as he could. D’artagnan was treading between the realms of semi-consciousness and being completely out like a light. What water did get consumed came during those rare semi-conscious moments. 

“Madame, you’ve done so much already, but could we prevail upon you to run a bath? In his current filthy state, I fear I may have to re-treat his wound if it gets infected.”

Caroline didn’t hesitate- “Of course. I will prepare a bath immediately.”

“Thank you again.”

Soon, Porthos and Aramis, joined by Athos, were stripping a still unconscious D’artagnan, in preparation for his bath.

Aramis instructed, “Let’s take advantage of his current unconscious state. No time for modesty- strip him naked so that we can be as thorough as we can. Madame Caroline was thorough enough to provide us with breeches, as well as trousers.”

They did so, and afterwards it took all three of them to dress the boy. Aramis reminded both of his friends that he was hardly out of the woods, and once he was returned to the bedroom, the tenants all conspired to formulate a gameplan designed to provide rest and sustenance to D’artagnan, both of which were critically needed if he were to survive.


	4. Chapter 4

At the Baudry residence, after D’Artagnan was settled and asleep for some time, the three Inséparables decided that it was time for Porthos and Athos to return to the Garrison, lest Treville begin to wonder what was taking so long to recover a dead body. Aramis was to remain behind, in order to tend to D’Artagnan.

After the two Musketeers were on their way, thanking the Baudry couple profusely for their patience and compassion for strangers, Aramis began to broach the topic of D’Artagnan’s short term needs. Both Joseph and Caroline interrupted the handsome Musketeer.

“He- and you- are welcome to stay as long as you deem suitable to have that dear young boy recover suitably, understand?” Caroline said.

“As much as that is appreciated, the truth is he lost a lot of blood, and will be very weak until his body has time to recover. I’m afraid this might involve both physical and mental.

“By that I mean if his brain was without sufficient blood or oxygen, I’m uncertain what his emotional state might be. He may have memory loss, confusion, and other byproducts of his injury. It would be unfair to subject you or anyone to-“

“It’s settled. He stays here. We will do what we can. My wife is an excellent cook, and can provide the food and drink necessary to aid in that area of his recovery.” Joseph was adamant.

“My thanks.”

  
Returning to the Garrison, Porthos and Athos filled Treville in on D’Artagnan, and that for now Aramis was staying behind at the Baudry residence. Athos suggested the Garrison supply some sort of recompense for the Baudry’s generosity, and Treville agreed.

“Aramis can stay until the boy is out of the woods, or whenever the Palace is in need of his services, whichever comes first,” Treville commented.

  
The next morning had the Baudry’s and Aramis around the breakfast table when slight stirrings could be heard from above.

Aramis ran upstairs, and noticed D’Artagnan was shifting in his bed, eyes still closed but attempting to open.

Caroline was right behind him, and both her and Aramis were of the same mind- if the boy was conscious enough to fidget, he might be awake enough to drink some badly needed water, as well as (if they were lucky) eat something. So she had water and some stew and pudding at the ready.

D’Artagnan’s countenance was pinched, but they managed to get him to drink a fair amount of water. Caroline attempted to get him to imbibe some of the stew and pudding, with the results a bit more mixed. But it was a start.

When the boy’s eyes opened and remained that way for more than a few moments, Aramis managed to ask: “How are you feeling, D’Artagnan?”

D’Artagnan looked at Aramis curiously, then at Caroline and Joseph, who had also hurried upstairs to see how his unexpected new injured tenant was faring.

“W-where- who are you?” the boy whispered.

  
Jacques Bonacieux had arrived home earlier than Constance was expecting. 

“The entire trip was a bust. Marcel suddenly didn’t have the funds for the job. Imagine that? The old coot. 

“Luckily he said that his sister’s daughter is recently widowed.”

“What’s lucky about that?” Constance asked, a bit shocked at the statement, even coming from her own husband, prone to comments not exactly said to be tactful. She even wondered if Marcel, the prospective buyer on this trip, was initially amenable to a transaction, but perhaps her dear husband had put his foot in his mouth- yet again.

“If you would let me finish, for once, you will find out. This daughter of his sister was left a considerable dowry and is planning some sort of party wherein she needs several dresses, the sounds of which mean the same materials I brought with me would suit perfectly. We leave in the morning for Dreux.”

“We?”

As soon as she asked, she realized: the prospective buyer was a woman. This is always where Constance came in- to woo the customer, and (as often as not) perform the necessary damage control needed when her husband said something untoward.

It was just as well- she needed a change of scenery, still feeling out of sorts over this dreadful D’Artagnan business. She realized her husband had no idea what had transpired.

“D’Artagnan is- dead.”

“What? Who?”

“Our boarder. He was killed helping the Musketeers.”

“Huh. Seems I need to put the word out that we have a room to let again.”

That was Jacques-all business. 

  
Whether or not he realized it himself, Athos needed a distraction, not mission-related, from his very recent brush with death by execution, and since the King had no pressing appointments needing the Musketeers yet, Treville allowed Athos and Porthos to circle back to see how Aramis was faring with the boy. 

Treville managed to arm the two men with freshly prepared food from the Garrison, courtesy of Serge. There was enough for a few days; Athos had enough sense to know that actual money would be insulting, and the food amount should be voluminous enough for it to be clear it was for Caroline and Joseph as well as their unexpected injured tenant. 

What they found when they arrived was a conscious D’Artagnan, or semi-conscious as it seemed. Aramis and Caroline were also there (Joseph was out). The sudden additional presence of two new people seemed to agitate D’Artagnan.

“More strangers.” D’artagnan seemed as upset as his weak frame could muster. His voice was barely a whisper.

“How is he?” Athos directed to Aramis.

Before he could answer, D’Artagnan managed to utter, “Where is my father?”

Not wanting to further upset the boy, and taking advantage of the fact that D’Artagnan’s eyes were half-mast when he asked the question, Aramis merely said, “Take a rest and we can speak later.” 

D’Artagnan was again asleep.

Aramis then gestured everyone downstairs, outside of any earshot of what D’Artagnan may hear.

“He is still very weak, but we’re managing to get him to eat and drink at regular intervals, something that was concerning me. So it’s the best short term scenario so far.

“He is still, as you can see, very confused and it appears his short term memory is compromised.”

Aramis had the opportunity to fill Caroline and Joseph in on the circumstances that led the boy to the Garrison- the murder of his father.

Porthos sensed that Athos may react to all of this fussing over a stranger in typical Athos fashion, so he offered, “you shoud’a seen ‘im on that battlefield, Athos. He went up against all of Gaudet’s men, sword in hand...he was a sight to see, Athos, a sight to see.”

“He performed spectacularly,” Aramis added. “But that was not the most astonishing thing he did, in my opinion.

“When I saw him about to kill Gaudet, I yelled at him that we needed him alive to save you. I had no hope of him stopping at my words, so certain I was that his grief and anger would overpower everything else; this boy wanted revenge, or so I thought.

“So when he stopped, that was what shocked me. He obeyed my command when I thought Gaudet was a dead man, and, by extension, you. It proved to me that the boy has a real fidelity to justice, not just angry, cold revenge.” 

“Thank goodness we found those uniforms right after,” Porthos added. “I just wish we had found them before, because if we had, hell, D’Artagnan could’ve killed Gaudet right at the outset, and I sure as hell wouldn’t ‘a minded.” 

Athos nodded, taking in his brothers’ words, and then found himself climbing the stairs back to where D’Artagnan lay. When there was no immediate protest from Aramis, he continued on.

In the bedroom, D’Artagnan was asleep but obviously fussing- he was emitting small moans and whimpers, as if having a nightmare.

Athos couldn’t help but equate what he was seeing laying on this bed- this frail, weak, frightened boy- to the angry young man challenging him to a duel over his father’s murder. It was disconcerting.

“Father…”, he was uttering, sleeping but fretting, as if in a plea.

While Athos was not a tactile man- far from it, to hear it from Porthos and Aramis- he was still an honorable one. Cruelty was an attribute foreign to him. 

It seemed cruel, then, not to do what he could to ease this young man’s suffering, if he could. He decided a little deception might be forgiven, if it could have the intended effect of soothing this young man’s anguish just a little.

He took the boy’s hand. He was shocked at how strongly the young man seemed to grasp it back. It was as if he were holding on as if his life depended on it, and perhaps it did.

“Father?”, the boy pleaded, eyes still shut.

Athos placed his other hand over D’Artagnan’s.

“Yes, D’Artagnan, it is me. You are safe now. Please rest.”

D’artagnan emitted a moan that sounded laced with relief. His breathing settled and again he was out.

Athos convinced himself that gratitude was behind his sudden depth of feeling- this boy was instrumental in saving his life, after all, were one to believe his two brothers. So didn’t it make sense that he felt something akin to- a warmth inside- because he was able to provide this bit of comfort?

All he knew for certain was that, for reasons perhaps beyond his understanding, when the boy grabbed his hand, he also grabbed a hold of his heart. 


	5. Chapter 5

After another day, D’Artagnan continued to improve, as his appetite was strong, and therefore was able to eat regularly. And while a little anxious and suspicious of his benign captors, he did as he was told; after all, his father raised him to be polite, especially to those showing you a kindness.

He was still too weak, however, to leave the bed and still needed to be fed. 

He also continued with his questions. His mind was still occasionally cloudy. “Why am I still so tired?” He seemed to be aware enough that he was spending a lot of time in bed, yet not feeling rested.

Aramis replied, “You lost a lot of blood, D’Artagnan.”

After a moment, D’Artagnan replied, “Oh.” After a few more seconds he asked, “Did I find it?”

“Hee hee hee hee…” Porthos blurted out, quietly.

But Aramis showed concern, the silly question underscoring the boy’s continued mental confusion. 

  
Athos and Porthos soon returned to the Garrison, safe in the knowledge that D’Artagnan was on the mend, and that Aramis and the Baudry’s had things well in hand.

It was after his father passed his thoughts again that D’Artagnan suddenly uttered out, to Aramis and Caroline:

“My father is dead, isn’t he?”

Aramis offered up the most sympathetic smile he could muster. “Yes, D’Artagnan; I’m so sorry.”

D’Artagnan’s reaction was of one who had known this was true already, but simply needed it confirmed. His pained expression, along with his turning his head sideways, told Aramis that perhaps he wished to be alone, especially in light of the fact that he really didn’t know any of them very well.

  
Athos and Porthos returned to the home for one last time soon afterwards, this time armed with clean linens from the Garrison surplus, as well as various fruits and vegetables courtesy of Serge. Treville had agreed the linens would not be missed. Joseph and Caroline thanked them and the Three Musketeers were invited to sit and eat with them.

The Inseparables continued to be amazed at the Baudry’s hospitality and generosity, and sat down more to be polite than to continue to eat this couple out of house and home.

As the meal progressed, and the discussion got livelier, none of them initially noticed the creaking of the stairs until they all looked and their collective mouths dropped open. Suddenly visible at the top of the stairs were the weak, shaky legs of D’Artagnan, slowly and tentatively trying to come downstairs.

“Look at this look at this…” Porthos said, quickly on his feet, headed towards the boy.

“D’Artagnan! What the hell do you think you are doing?!” Athos yelled, which caused the young man to lurch, and almost trip and tumble down the entire stairway.

“I’m coming- downstairs…” D’Artagnan offered.

“We can see that; but what for?” Aramis asked, managing a more gentle tone than his friend.

“To- to… _eat!_ ”, D’Artagnan squeaked. 

In his weakened state, the Gascon sounded nothing more than a petulant five year old boy, making most of the habitants in the room grin. 

Suddenly, D’Artagnan looked up at Porthos, there first to assist him in not falling and breaking his neck, and asked, “ _May_ I eat?” His face reflected concern.

“Of _course_ you can eat, you silly boy,” Caroline bellowed from the table. 

Aramis chimed in,” But you aren’t strong enough to be taking to the stairs, D’Artagnan; you must still be fed by-“

“I’m not a baby,” D’Artagnan interrupted.

Athos responded, “Then stop _acting_ like one, and get back upstairs and into bed.”

Athos felt four pair of eyes bore themselves into him. And D’Artagnan himself glared at the stranger he seems to recall being called Athos by the others.

Porthos helped D’Artagnan back upstairs, where the boy reluctantly allowed him to be fed again. After eating, Porthos noticed the boy’s eyes drooping shut; the effort of attempting the stairs, and now filling his stomach, had wiped him out again. Porthos smiled, ruffled the boy’s hair, and returned downstairs. 

After the boy was settled back in bed, Joseph, Caroline, and the Inseparables were soon downstairs again. Porthos and Athos were leaving, probably for the last time, as they had all discussed moving D’Artagnan to the Garrison soon, in order to give the Baudry’s back their home, and to get D’Artagnan on to the next steps of his continued recovery.

Athos and Porthos were about to take their leave when they heard a loud crash from above.

As it turned out, it was Caroline who made it up the stairs first. The bedroom door housing D’Artagnan was closed.

She opened it, and found D’Artagnan on the ground, cursing and crying, holding a chamberpot. The floor was wet and the boy’s shirt was also stained with…

_Oh my,_ Caroline thought.

“Oh my poor boy, let me help-“

“LEAVE ME ALONE! Let- just leave it, _please…_ ” D’Artagnan pleaded. “I will clean it…”

As the others proceeded to pile into the room, they began staring at the boy on the floor; and seeing them glaring, Caroline’s mothering instincts kicked in.

“Get out, all of you, _now!”_ Caroline’s tone brokered no refusal. They all backed out of the room. Caroline closed the door behind her.

She saw the boy still on the floor, not injured but humiliated, embarrassed, frustrated, and also frightened and alone. Her heart broke a little, and she also knew enough to give him a minute or so to collect himself.

After she allowed himself to cry and whimper a little more, she became all business.

“Alright son, let’s get you all cleaned up.”

When D’Artagnan said nothing, she knew that was his consenting to receive the help he needed.

The silly boy had managed to successfully use the chamberpot to make water all on his own, but had either slipped or was too weak, and managed to fall and spill the contents all over the floor, including himself in the process. 

Caroline grabbed a new shirt from the room, and told him to take the old one off and told him he would replace it with the new one, but not just yet. Her matter-of-fact tone betrayed no pity or judgment on the boy. She would clean up the floor after she got the boy back in bed.

“JOSEPH!” She yelled. A moment later, her husband popped in the room.

As soon as he did, Caroline ordered, “Please get me a damp cloth and a dry cloth, straight away.”

Joseph did as he was bid without any questions. 

As they waited, Caroline did what she could to ameliorate the awkward silence by matter-of-factly stating “We’ll simply clean you up a bit before you put that new shirt on. I’m so surprised and pleased how my son’s old shirts fit you so perfectly.”

D’Artagnan, for his part, was avoiding her gaze, clearly still mortified by the entire situation.

Joseph then came in with the requested cloths.

“Thank you my dear. Now get out and leave us.” 

Once he left the room, she cleaned D’Artagnan’s bare skin up with the moist cloth, during which time the boy produced a hurt, mortified, but contrite look. D’Artagnan finally managed, “Thank you. I’m sorry for- for everything.”

“There is nothing to be sorry for, you foolish boy,” she answered. She then proceeded to dry the boy with the other cloth, and instructed him to put the clean shirt on, which the boy did.

“Why are you helping me? I- I don’t know you. I mean, you don’t know _me_.”

“I’m a mother, and I can always tell when there is someone who can use a little mothering.”

D’Artagnan smiled, and then his eyes were drifting closed.


	6. Chapter 6

After Porthos and Athos left, Athos said, “That boy is stubborn- he clearly must have known that he would need help with the chamberpot. Yet he refuses to let us help.”

Porthos looked at Athos with an incredulous look.

“Are you kidding? The kid’s all alone, surrounded by strangers; hmmm, let’s see why he might not have said, ‘excuse me, I need to use the chamberpot; I don’t know any of you from Adam, but would you be so kind as to assist me? I have an intimate bodily need that I must tend to; which of you complete strangers are up to helping me out?’ Athos, you must be mad.”

“I’m just saying, it was impractical for him to even think he could do it on his own.”

“He’s still not himself yet. He’s gettin’ better, bless Aramis for that, but if you think he’s thinkin’ straight yet, you’re insane. Best we get ‘im to the Garrison as soon as he can travel, so we can tend to him there.”

“And why would we do that?” Athos asked. 

“What do you mean?”

“Doesn’t he have a farm to get back to?”

“Athos, this kid’s got skills. A farm ain’t where he needs to be.”

Athos just shook his head.

  
Two days later, D’Artagnan was deemed to be suitable for travel. He was up and about, not only feeding himself but taking care of his needs and stronger as well. It was time to go.

The farewell was bittersweet- both Joseph and Caroline were in tears. D’Artagnan’s shy grin and heartfelt thanks to them didn’t help matters.

“I still can’t understand why you did everything you did for me, but I thank you from the bottom of my heart nevertheless,” D’Artagnan admitted.

“The only thanks I want is a promise that you’ll come visit soon.” Caroline couldn’t stop the waterworks. D’Artagnan smiled and said that he would.

“That goes for me too, son. It did my wife and me good to have someone to care about again, if only for a short time. You take care, you hear?” And with that, Joseph pulled D’Artagnan into a gentle hug.

And with that, they were on their way to the Garrison. 

Once there, D’Artagnan was shocked to learn that their plans for him involved staying in a room specially prepared for him to ride out the remainder of his convalescence. In fact, he was certain that he was one hundred percent fine and therefore was free to go on his way.

Wherever ‘his way’ was.

Aramis told him that he anticipated one more week where his wound can be monitored personally; now that he was up and about, he wanted to ensure it would heal properly and there would be no tearing. Also, he wanted to observe his eating habits so that his strength would continue to improve.

Now that his strength and wits had begun to improve, D’Artagnan wasted no time in establishing himself as a lousy patient.

  
Sitting around the Garrison table, Aramis was discussing the boy with Athos and Porthos.

“I don’t get it- he insists he is getting better, is fine now; but whenever I go to take my leave of him, he asks me when I will return for a visit. I’m wondering if he is actually worried about his recovery and wants me around to tend to him.”

Porthos said, “That’s not it. He does that to me too.”

“Does what?”

“Asks me when I will return for a visit.”

“Me as well,” Athos said with a smile.

“Kid just doesn’t like bein’ alone is all. As much as he complains about us moddy-coddling him, he hates bein’ by ‘imself more.”

Realizing he was right, Aramis then said, “Then let’s pay him a visit right now.” 

  
It was around this time that Constance and her husband returned from their trip. It was successful, which put Jacques in a good mood.

Constance had wandered into D’Artagnan’s room- his former room- and came across his effects, such as they were. Once Jacques left the house she gathered them up, and made the trek to the Garrison. Since he had died, perhaps one of the Musketeers would have learned enough about the young man to know where they could be sent on.

Upon her arrival, she saw no one she recognized, so she headed up the Garrison stairs, en route to Captain Treville’s office. She figured it would be as good a place to start as anywhere.

Constance began to feel the pang of loss again, a feeling so unlike her recently, as her marriage to Jacques was devoid of any deep feeling one way or another. But she tried to shake it off. 

Beyond the Captain’s office, it sounded as if a terrible row was occurring, with at least one recognizable voice. After seeing Treville’s office was empty, she proceeded towards the origin of the ruckus.

Suddenly almost plowing her over was Porthos.

“My apologies, Madame. Is there something you need?” The shouts and arguing went on, just in the adjacent room, judging from the volume.

Constance tried to explain that she had D’Artagnan’s belongings, and wondered if he or anyone else might have an idea where to send them, or what to do with them? She tried to mention that she had no other address for D’Artagnan and…

But the arguing and swearing was so loud at this point that Porthos just said, “You have a question for D’Artagnan?”

Constance looked at the big man, thinking, _what kind of question is that?_ She simply replied, “I have D’Artagnan’s things and was wondering what I should do with them…”

Porthos replied, “Well, Madame, why don’t you just ask ‘im yourself?” 

Now, between the incredibly annoying yelling coming from the Garrison room, and Porthos’ increasingly ridiculous responses to her queries, Constance was beyond irritated.

“What are you talking about?”

Wait- those loud voices. Was that-

It started to dawn on her. But she was frightened to hope.

“Is- is D’Artagnan _alive?”_

Porthos smiled. “For the moment. But as you can hear, madame, your timing is perfect, and perhaps you can save ‘im. Because I think Aramis is about to kill ‘im.”

Constance pushed past Porthos and ran straight towards the room where the ruckus was being raised. On her way she heard that familiar voice scream “Aramis! I don’t need you prodding at me any more! I am fine and- OW!! _Aramis!_ You did that on purpose!!”, followed by “I assure you, my annoying idiot, that I did not, but now I am glad that I did!”

With that, Constance entered the room.

And there in a bed was D’Artagnan, shirtless, with Aramis examining his wound.

She was speechless.

“Madame!” D’Artagnan said; he had stopped yelling, and immediately was smiling at her. His next response was to grab the bed sheet and raise it to cover himself. 

Constance said, “Oh, stop it- it’s nothing that I haven’t already seen.”

Aramis’ eyes went wide, and he mischievously proclaimed, “Do tell!” glancing back and forth from Constance to the young man.

“Oh, get your mind out of the gutter!” she countered. “What in the world is going on here? I thought you were-oh never mind. You could be heard all across Paris!”

D’Artagnan took this as his opportunity to think he could gain an advocate.

“Aramis thinks he could continue to coddle me and tell me what to do even after I tell him a hundred times that I’m well and better and I just want some fresh air and…”

Halfway through this tirade, Constance had to suppress a grin at how cute she found this rant; his eyes were popping out of his head, and his pout was adorable! D’Artagnan was _alive_ and yelling and annoying everyone and wasn’t life just wonderful?

She cut him off mid-rant. “Hold on, you. Didn’t you almost just die? I came here thinking I was returning your things because you were dead, and you’re complaining to someone who you barely know, who is trying to nurse you back into health, and you’re _yelling_ at him?????!!”

Constance had hit the nail on the head. Suddenly, D’Artagnan went from looking put out and annoyed, to contrite.

“You- you’re right of course. Aramis, apologies. I’m sorry! Thank you again. But-”

Aramis cut him off. “You’re welcome. Now perhaps you’ll think twice before biting my head off when I suggest the best course for you to be one hundred percent healed and recovered?” That got a reluctant nod from D’Artagnan.

Constance walked towards the bed to check on D’Artagnan more closely. Her sudden quick approach made D’Artagnan move his head away.

“Did- did you think I was going to strike you?” she asked.

D’Artagnan smiled. “I thought you might?”

“Well, when I return, if I find you haven’t followed Aramis’ instructions to the letter, I will, be certain of that.” 

D’Artagnan’s takeaway from all that was, “Oh. So, um- you’ll come back? For another visit?” He had a hopeful look on his face.

This time, Constance’s attempt to hide a smile was a bit less successful. “Yes. I assume you’ll eventually return to your room at my husband’s home?”

D’Artagnan shot a glance at Aramis, and then said, ”Yes, I suspect once Aramis says so. It might be as soon as tomorrow? Aramis?”

“If you behave? Perhaps.”

D’Artagnan wasn’t sure why his mood changed instantly. There weren’t many things going right in his life at the moment. He had to hang onto whatever he could grab. Somehow, just seeing Constance seemed to do the trick. He had never run into anyone like her before. And it just wasn’t her persona- strong and not afraid to speak her mind. She was real nice to look at (and smell) too. 


	7. Chapter 7

In the days that passed since Constance’s visit, the first of several, D’Artagnan improved and was out and about. Several things had since transpired- the most significant of which was that Porthos and Aramis acted as advocates for D’Artagnan to become a Musketeer recruit, prompted by both his analytical skills in helping the two Musketeers formulate together the clues necessary to lead them to Gaudet, then the prowess he demonstrated during the battle with Gaudet’s men. Treville was convinced and made it so- it was a low risk proposition- D’Artagnan would receive no wages, and they got the benefit of the young man’s passionate commitment.

The other thing was, as a result of D’Artagnan joining the recruits, that the Inseparables themselves began training him. 

Athos seemed a bit ambivalent about the entire matter, doing his part to train the boy, but in truth he was a little perplexed in his two friends’ enthusiastic embracing of the young Gascon into the fold. It was almost as if he were put out over the fact that that they seemed to ignore that he should get a vote in this shift in their ‘threesome’ dynamic. Didn’t he get a say in whether or not he thought D’Artagnan belonged?

What he hadn’t disclosed to anyone was that in truth, ever since he had that moment with the boy, comforting him on his sickbed that day, he felt something that he hadn’t felt in a long time. His brotherly, even paternal feelings towards D’Artagnan, he was certain, mostly correlated to his extreme gratitude to the boy helping him not lose his life over this whole Gaudet thing. 

But, in truth, Athos was no idiot- he knew why he had been thinking of his brother Thomas so often these last few days.

Perhaps he hadn’t made the connection between his recent good mood and D’Artagnan’s improving health- he went from being dead, to almost dead, and possibly too weak to recover, to frail and confused, to the now almost completely healthy young man, currently being bandied about by Porthos, but holding his own admirably.

Athos tried to come to terms with other annoying traits that D’Artagnan had begun to demonstrate, as a way to convince himself the boy was more trouble than he was worth- first was his insistence on asking a million questions of the three of them, on topics including but not limited to training. Queries such as “What do taverns with pictures of horses on them mean?”, to “have you been inside Notre Dame?”, to “does the King ever visit the Garrison? And if so, does he…”. These endless questions usually prompt Porthos, Aramis, or (usually) himself to bark out “Oh, for goodness sake, Question, I mean D’Artagnan, slow down and take a breath, would you please?”

The boy also seemed to have an annoying, but genuine interest in each of their personal lives (“Do you have any brothers and sisters? What did you like to do growing up?”), and that really did not sit well with Athos; although Porthos and Aramis didn’t seem to mind at all, as it appeared to provide an opportunity for them reminisce on happy times in their past. But of course Athos bristled from any such questions.

But possibly the most annoying of all was that the boy had begun to follow him like an unwelcome shadow. One he had a hard time in shaking; if anything, his future as a Musketeer good at tracking people was assured. He also began to notice the boy not just looking at him, but up to him, akin to his deceased younger brother. It was unnerving. 

Supping that evening at the Wren, the topic of the boy came up.

Porthos said, “We forgot to invite the boy along again.”

Aramis: “I said to him that I expect he wished to get back to Madame Bonacieux as soon as possible. He just smiled.”

“Some men respect the sanctity of marriage,” Athos interjected.

Aramis became thoughtful. “Do you think he was waiting for an invitation to join us?”

Sensing that his brother may be feeling a bit guilty, Porthos quickly added, “We can extend the offer to him next time.”

That got Athos’ goat.

“Isn’t it enough that he’s coerced himself into the fold during the day with our incessant training? Do we now need to babysit him after hours?”

Porthos and Aramis glanced at each other. 

“We just thought that invitin’ ‘im along after a hard day’s training might be the right thing to do,” Porthos responded.

They were all taking turns teaching the boy the rules of the Garrison, of being a Musketeer, and of course, as with any recruit, tasking him with the menial chores that any recruit would need to perform in order to earn his keep- stabling the horses, cleaning up, assisting Serge in the kitchen, and running all sorts of errands.

“He’s doing so well in his training; Porthos, what about with you? He seems to be keeping up?”, Aramis asked.

“Never have to show him a move twice. Great attitude too; he’s like a sponge, eager to sop it all up and learn as much as he can.”

“His attitude is good. Remember Martin? The recruit from last year?” Aramis asked.

Porthos had to think a moment. “Ah! Martin! Horrible, horrible boy.”

Aramis recalled, “He had an excuse for every mistake he ever made. Plus, he thought a bit much of himself. His father was able to afford his commission threefold, and he had a real entitlement issue.” 

“The _excuses!_ Yes, I remember once I kicked his ass to the ground, and he said the sun had gotten in his eyes! Another time he accused me of cheatin’! Cheatin’! _Me,_ of all people!” Porthos said with a knowing grin.

Aramis asked Porthos, “What does D’Artagnan do when you kick _his_ ass to the ground?”

Porthos smiled. “He picks himself up, dusts himself off, smiles, and says ‘again!’”

“So what you’re saying,” Athos finally interjected, “is that D’Artagnan compares favorably to the worst Musketeer recruit we’ve ever had. Hardly a ringing endorsement.”

Aramis just smiled and shook his head.

“Hey, what’s your problem with D’Artagnan?” Porthos demanded, wanting to know why he seemed to be so resistant to accept the boy, especially in light of the fact that both Aramis and he had both obviously taken to him so easily.

Athos answered in a half-laugh. “I don’t have any problems with him.” He found himself reluctant to give voice to anything else lest his protective feelings for the boy manifest itself. 

Aramis said, “Well, that’s good, seeing how the boy is beginning to look up to you. The other day I caught him staring at you training with Porthos, and your sword moves had his gaping at you with his mouth wide open. I told him to watch it or he’d catch flies. He got so red I had to chuckle.

“I’m not saying I don’t appreciate the irony, Athos,” Aramis continued. “The one man that he comes to Paris to _kill,_ is the one he’s now trying to please more than anyone else. The one whose opinion matters to him more than most, the one whose approval he seeks above all others.”

“He _doesn’t._ Porthos.” Athos swung his gaze to the large man to refute Aramis’ words; surely he did not see the same in the boy.

Porthos just nodded yes and said, “All I can say, Athos, is it’d be pathetic if it wasn’t so adorable.”

Athos usually appreciated the times when Aramis’ keen observations about other people’s inter-relationships eluded his own; this time, however, it just made him feel even more annoyed and out of sorts.


	8. Chapter 8

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Upped the rating for a mention of rape (just a mention- nothing happens).

The next morning, as they were all eating breakfast around the Garrison table, Treville yelled down to D’Artagnan to come up to his office.

That got a few raised eyebrows.

A few minutes later, D’Artagnan descended the stairs two at a time, looking like the cat that ate the canary.

“What was that all about?” Porthos asked.

“I have a mission!” D’Artagnan replied happily.

“Delivering some missive to a fair royal maiden?” one of the other Musketeers said, with a small trace of mockery in his tone.

“Not exactly,” was the boy’s response.

Before any other questions could be asked, Treville yelled from the top of the stairs, “Athos! Porthos! Aramis! My office.”

When Treville began charting out the movements of a criminal called Vadim, and his current thoughts as to how get ahead of any plans the man might have to utilize the multiple barrels of gunpowder he had apparently been able to procure, all three Musketeers sat in rapt attention. 

Treville’s plan involved someone going undercover in the jail that the captured man was scheduled to be transferred to soon, in order to ingratiate himself to the criminal and extract the needed intelligence necessary to thwart any devious plans the man might have with the deadly gunpowder. Even behind bars, the concern was that the connection between Vadim and the gunpowder should be monitored closely, as well as what Vadim might be planning to do with the explosives. Theories at the moment ranged from an execution of the King and Queen, to creating unrest in support of the city’s poor. 

So far everything made sense to the three men, and indeed each had been on similar missions before, often together.

It was only after Treville began to mention that the mission shouldn’t involve a veteran Musketeer, or anyone who might be deemed one, that the three men began to make the connection between D’Artagnan’s visit to the Captain’s office preceding them.

“I mentioned to D’Artagnan that I had a mission for him, if he agreed to do it. He accepted, even before I explained a word about the mission. After I did, however, he still seemed extremely excited and asked when he could begin.”

For reasons he could not understand, Athos momentarily found it hard to catch a breath.

Aramis and Porthos shared a surprised smile when Athos said, “Just a moment, Captain. D’Artagnan is barely recovering from near death as a result of this whole Gaudet episode; he’s now to risk his life again by trying to ingratiate himself with a known criminal?”

Treville replied, “Vadim isn’t scheduled to be transferred here until Tuesday. That’s another week. And Aramis has reported that the boy is almost one-hundred percent ready now. Correct, Aramis?”

“Yes, correct, Captain,” Aramis said, earning a glare from Athos. Aramis would have squirmed at the look, but was too amused.

Athos said, “But this isn’t only about physical prowess- this is about cunning, and having the ability to lie to get into Vadim’s good graces, correct? This boy has no experience in anything close to such a mission!”

”So you will have a week to train him in how he should approach such a task. He should pretend to be someone in tune with whatever plan or scheme that Vadim lets on he may be planning,” Treville offered. “Then, we will create an opportunity for him to report back on whatever he may have learned. I will have one guard on the inside who will be keyed into things to watch over him in case anything untoward occurs.”

“Apologies, but I will not be party to any training, Captain. To do so would be to ratify my agreement that this is a good idea, which I strongly do not agree with. If you will excuse me,” Athos said gruffly. He then got up and walked out.

That left the three men staring at one another.

“I believe he’s worried about the boy,” Aramis offered.

Suddenly, Athos reappeared.

“You have one guard on the inside who will be watching him?”

“Yes,” Treville said, momentarily startled by Athos’ reappearance.

“Day shift?”

”Yes.”

“So no one to watch out for him overnight?”

“No,” Treville admitted.

“Perfect. So as long as anyone trying to harm or abuse him does so during daylight hours, we are good, because if they do so overnight, all alone with no one there, he is left to his own devices. So that plan should work out just perfectly.”

Porthos said, “Wait. What do you mean by abuse? Do you mean rape?”

Aramis almost audibly gasped. “Well, I did not when Athos said it, but thank you for now adding _that_ scenario to our heads!”

Athos remained quiet but also appeared to be shaken a bit; but he kept his usual cool demeanor in place as best he could.

Treville quickly interjected, “I am trying to get him to not be in the general population, so that may become less likely…”

Athos’ mind, however, was now reeling. “A boy who looks like that- what if- and what if, after a time, he changes his mind and wants out? There will be no one he can signal to release him.”

“There are risks, and I made D’Artagnan well aware of them.”

“He sees the excitement and romance in the mission, and isn’t seriously contemplating the very real risks. Plus, as it has been recently pointed out to me, there may be an element of him- attempting to impress. It’s the exploitation of the gullible, Captain.”

“And a multiple amount of gunpowder barrels arriving in Paris, connected to a known criminal, is a very serious affair, one worth a little risk.” There was a growing edge to the Captain’s voice.

”Very little risk to us, however, correct, Captain? If D’Artagnan gets himself killed, no skin off our regiment; hell, he is barely a Musketeer recruit yet, correct? How very convenient.”

Porthos and Aramis were getting very uncomfortable in the confrontational tone the conversation was taking, and they both were noticeably squirming in their seats.

“You profess to be concerned for this boy’s welfare; however you refuse to train him, in order to minimize the very scenarios that concern you. Make up your mind, Athos. I am finished discussing this with you. You are all dismissed.”

As they descended the Garrison stairs, Porthos said, “So change your mind and help us prepare the boy as best-“

Athos yelled, “I will not sanction this mission! We will figure out an alternate approach within this week that we can propose to Treville.”

Aramis said, “Well, I for one will not delay in doing what I can to prepare D’Artagnan, on the very possible reality that we may not come up with any alternatives. We owe it to the boy-“

Again, Athos interjected. “Do what you wish. I will not be party to any of it.”

D’Artagnan greeted them as they approached the Garrison table.

“So the Captain filled you in?” He grinned, excited and happy.

Athos’ anger flared.

“About this foolishness? Yes, he did. And you aren’t equipped with the tools required to pull this off.”

”So you’ll train me!” D’Artagnan smiled.

“Train you to get yourself killed? I think not. You may work with these two, but as far as I’m concerned, I have made my reservations about the entire affair known to the Captain. If you’ll excuse me,” and with that, Athos walked away.

“Athos, but I have ques-“, the boy began, but Athos did not break his walk away from them all.


	9. Chapter 9

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Again, some dialogue about non-consensual sexual activity and violence. Be warned!

And so it was that during the ensuing week, Porthos and Aramis imparted what techniques D’Artagnan may use inside jail in order to ingratiate himself to Vadim. If D’Artagnan, spotting Athos, managed a query or concern, he was flagged away.

“He’s undermining any confidence we may be building up in the boy,” Aramis commented to Porthos.

“He don’t get the extent of his influence on ‘im,” Porthos replied. “If he don’t think D’Artagnan can succeed, then neither will the pup. You see the comments he’s already makin’, doubting himself.”

  
The day came and went when D’Artagnan was thrown into prison. When the three of them witnessed the Guard hit the fleeing D’Artagnan, then striking him again, causing him to fall, they all winced, none more than Athos.

Then, during the mission after Vadim and D’Artagnan’s escape, at the ad-hoc meeting with the boy at the Bonacieux’ residence, Athos was hesitant to allow D’Artagnan to go back in, as the boy suggested; however his resolve had softened a bit, partially since D’Artagnan seemed to have carried himself well, so far.

It was at that meeting, however, that Aramis, ever the one cognizant of other people’s feelings, had to intercede when Athos once again proved to be tone-deaf as to how his manner and words could negatively impact others; in this case, Constance was the unlikely casualty of Athos’ words.

Athos had already reluctantly agreed to let D’Artagnan go back in, after the boy’s insistence that he could do this, and his pleads to trust him. However after the boy left the home, heading directly back to Vadim and potential danger, Athos voiced his nagging reservations to his two brothers.

Shaking his head, he said, “This is a mistake. He isn’t clever enough to finesse this type of work. A Gascon farm boy against Vadim? He’s going to get himself killed. Plus, he’s impatient; if he thinks he isn’t gaining Vadim’s trust fast enough, he’ll press it, raising Vadim’s suspicions. At which point Vadim will kill him, or have one of his cronies do it.”

Everyone overheard this, including Constance and her husband; Constance clearly blanched at Athos’ prediction. Aramis slowly walked up close to Athos and pleaded, “Please keep your voice down…”

“And why should I do that?” Athos asked.

Aramis whispered, “You’re scaring Constance; she-likes D’Artagnan, and-“

Clearly Aramis’ warning wasn’t understood or heeded, as Athos simply replied, “What are you talking about? I’m starting to think we may have just seen the last of D’Artagnan alive, and- what is she scared about?”

Aramis dropped his head. Sometimes his brother could be so oblivious.  


Soon after their rendezvous at the Bonacieux residence, their sources and research began to uncover more information about Vadim. He was a career criminal, prone to suspicion and extremely unlikely to allow anyone else into his small, tight-knit group of villains. And since Vadim’s past did involve some examples of brutal violence, including murder, it all tended to be focused around one simple goal- robbery.

Why this was distressing was because D’Artagnan, unaware of these findings, may still be pressing to embed himself with Vadim. This, they know, was unlikely to work at this point. At worse, as Athos had already voiced as a concern, it could invoke suspicion on Vadim and his partners’ parts, putting the boy at risk.

  
Outside the Palace, with Vadim having escaped along with his cronies, as well as D’Artagnan, suddenly Athos, Porthos, and Aramis ran straight into Vadim. No sign of the boy.

“Is he- alive?”, Athos managed to croak.

Vadim spat, “In about a minute he won’t be- in fact, by then you can probably collect his head in Germany, his arms in Spain, and his torso may make it all the way to England. 

“He proved himself useful at the end, what with that pretty mouth of his; of course, to make sure he didn’t bite anything off, we had to first knock out all of his teeth. He certainly demonstrated some excellent sodomy skills. But any second now…pshhhhh!,” he said, sticking his fingers in his ears, letting them know what to expect.

“Get DOWN!”, Athos screamed, before the sound of the explosion filled the air, shuddering throughout the entire area. Bricks from the adjacent building went flying, knocking the three of them senseless.

By the time they regained consciousness, they had no idea how much time had lapsed. 

After they awoke, they were witness to total chaos. People were screaming in terror, and while their first impulse was to find D’Artagnan, as well as capture Vadim, they recognized their first responsibility was to calm the citizens, as well as tend to anyone who had injuries. No matter what may have weighed in the back of Aramis’ mind, he was simply incapable of ignoring anyone who could benefit from his medic abilities.

While doing so, Porthos and Athos got busy restoring order and calming people down as best they could (when Aramis decided he didn’t need their assistance for any of the injured subjects). 

Several times Athos attempted to break away and pursue Vadim, but the fearful crowd would impede his efforts, and crowd control became essential. Someone yelled out that they had heard more bombs were coming, and irrational fear and confusion abounded, necessitating his calm intervention. 

After an hour or two where it was revealed that the peoples’ injuries were for the most part superficial, in general everyone seemed to begin to calm, as the initial terror of the blast had settled. The Three Musketeers urged the people to return to their homes, and check on loved ones. Finally the crowd had more or less dispersed. 

They were about to pursue Vadim when a servant of the Garrison, Pierre, approached them.

“Captain Treville wants to see the three of you back at the Garrison immediately.”

“We have to find Vadim!” Athos responded. 

“Vadim is dead,” Pierre responded.

Small consolation. So was D’Artagnan, apparently.

No one was eager to return to the Garrison; with Vadim dead, the threat over, and arriving back at the Garrison meant they would learn the (morbid) details of the boy’s death, not something they were looking forward to. But who had killed Vadim?

Their progress was also hampered by Aramis’ insistence on examining both Porthos and Athos; Aramis implored them to both look him in the eye so that he could check for concussion. After he asked on their being dizzy or nauseous, he was satisfied when both answered in the negative. 

“And yourself?” Athos asked. As preoccupied as he might have been, he still also needed to know how Aramis was.

“I’m fine. We were all lucky.”

“Not all of us.”

“No,” Aramis had to admit.

“We should be collecting him first before returning to the Garrison.”

“We have our orders. Anyway, you wanna bet ten livre that D’art survived? We thought he was dead after Gaudet, after all.” Porthos sounded half-hearted but didn’t want to abandon hope that the boy had somehow miraculously managed to live through this.

Neither Aramis nor Athos said anything.


	10. Chapter 10

Not much was said on the trip back to the Garrison; Treville waved the three of them up to his office.

“Are the three of you alright?” was the first thing out of Treville’s mouth.

“Yes, Captain; we all were knocked out from the blast, but I believe we’re all uninjured,” Aramis offered.

“Good. Apparently the structural damage caused by the gun powder was moderate but not significant, but of course that’s a preliminary finding. And Vadim was thwarted from accomplishing his goal, which apparently was stealing as many of the crown jewels as he could carry. So all in all, this was a good outcome.”

Athos saw red. “D’Artagnan being blown to smithereens is a good outcome?”

“What are you talking about?”

“Did you even know? Vadim taunted us with it- just before the explosion he inferred that the boy would be killed when the dynamite was set off!”

Treville responded, “D’Artagnan is fast asleep across the hall, recovering. It was he that killed Vadim.”

Porthos clapped his hands together. “ _Pay up!_ Oh wait- neither of you took the bet- DAMN!!!!!”, he yelled in delight nevertheless.

“What- how-“ It seemed as if none of them knew what to ask first.

“D’Artagnan gave me his report about an hour ago. The long and short of it is, he procured a sword and was able to run Vadim through with it. I ordered him to be looked at by Henri in your absence, Aramis. The boy has been through an ordeal, to be sure. Henri ordered first that the boy have a bath- he did stink of, well, prison- and he wanted to treat his wounds clean.”

“Wounds?” the three of them seemed to ask at once.

“Nothing life-threatening,” Treville was quick to add. “But not to put too fine a point on it- he was tortured.”

“Tortured?” Athos gasped. 

“Yes, from his report it seems as if they decided to have their fun with him before proceeding with their robbery attempt, which only Vadim was still alive for, given his deceit of his own men. 

“In any case, after he was treated, I ordered him to eat something, which he proceeded to do as if his life depended upon it, and is now fast asleep three rooms to the left.”

“Does he- his teeth- Vadim implied that- he was…sodimized. He said they- knocked out his teeth so they could…” Aramis could hardly say the words.

Treville smirked. “It goes with the profile we built on Vadim. A chronic, expert liar; apparently you could not believe a word he said. D’Artagnan still has all of his teeth. It sounds as if he was having a bit of fun with you. Believe me when I say that after he gave me his report, I can seriously say without fear of contradiction that while the boy went through a lot, sexual molestation wasn’t anything he suffered.”

All three of them were intimately familiar with the thorough due diligence that Treville’s typically puts his men through while reporting on a mission. Through an expert series of prompts and leading questions, as well as also reading body language, Treville was admired for his keen prowess in this regard. Which is why Athos, Porthos, and Aramis needed no further assurances from their Captain on the matter of D’Artagnan’s abuse. 

“Can we just peek in on him? We won’t wake him, Captain.” Porthos asked.

“Of course. But given as he mentioned that he typically slept with one eye open the entire time he was inside, I suggest we let him get some well deserved rest until tomorrow. So try not to disturb him.”

The men went to the room, and suddenly, there he was, fast asleep, albeit a fitful one as he seemed to be jerking about, eyes rolling as if in a bad dream.

His face underlined Treville’s account of his mistreatment- split lip, swollen eye, evident even with them being closed, and a bruise on his cheek. 

The trio went from feeling relief at the boy’s survival, to anger at what he had endured under Vadim’s watch.

But he was alive. And whole. And dressed in new clothing that Treville had another Musketeer procure, so that any other bodily wounds were hidden from the men.

“Kid’s got nine lives, I tell ya,” Porthos whispered.

“Indeed,” Athos smiled.

Porthos looked emotional. Aramis went to console him by rubbing his shoulder. 

“It’s alright, brother; as you can see, he is fine.”

“It’s not that,” Porthos admitted, clearly upset. “The money I could’a made off ‘a you two if you had taken that bet…”

Athos gave him the Stare. Aramis rolled his eyes. 

Suddenly, D’Artagnan shifted, and in doing so, he exposed his right wrist, red and obviously raw with evidence of where the boy must have needed to do whatever was necessary to shake the bonds of his captivity.

D’Artagnan, still asleep, began to unconsciously scratch at his wrist, the abrasion clearly now itchy to the touch. Aramis grabbed the boy’s other hand, preventing him from further aggravating the injury, and also potentially causing it to begin bleeding. He then patted at the wrist, in an effort to ameliorate the itching, but in such a way that would not cause any further irritation. He then made a mental note to get some gauze to cover both wrists.

Suddenly, D’Artagnan’s eyes opened up. Seeing the three men, he shot up.

“I-is there something you need?”, he asked them, eyes only half-open.

“Nothing. Sorry to disturb you,” Athos said.

“Oohhh, I was _sleeping…_ ” D’Artagnan moaned, suddenly sounding annoyed. He fell back down, taking the edges of his pillow and wrapping them around his ears, as if to tune out the intruders. 

“He he he he…”, Porthos couldn’t help himself. In order to not further disturb the boy, Aramis and Athos at least had the good sense to simply smile. Usually their presence energized D’Artagnan. If his first response was to go back to sleep, especially this being the first time he’d seen them since he finished his mission, it spoke volumes in terms of how beyond exhausted he must be. 

Returning to the Captain’s office, Treville filled the curious men in on some details provided by D’Artagnan during his report.

“D’Artagnan explained that just prior to them departing for their mission, Vadim announced that there is a traitor amongst them. He glared at D’Artagnan, and he said that his men then grabbed him and strapped him to a chair. They began beating him, and then Vadim took a knife and began administering cuts all along his torso.”

“Son of a bitch,” Porthos growled.

“Then, more insidious than that, they took a hot poker, set it in a fire, and began to bore holes with it directly through his shirt, along his chest and belly. After which Vadim told the boy, ‘now you die.’

“They beat him unconscious. He said he awoke tied to the top of the gunpowder barrels. Only Vadim was there- he told him he was glad he was awake, because he wanted to flaunt his new invention- fuses jury-rigged to ignite the barrels.”

Athos’ hands were on his face at this point, in disbelief at what he was hearing- what D’Artagnan had to bear- alone, probably terrified. Certain he would die.

“The boy is very bright- he recognizes that he is alive simply due to Vadim’s hubris- he said that if Vadim had paid as much attention to his tying him to the barrels as he did his fuse contraption, he would be dead right now.

“He said he barely got out of there in time- he kept apologizing that he tried to put the fuses out after he got free, but once they went out, they seemed to simply re-ignite again.”

“Sneffel fuses.” Aramis said.

“Obviously sneffel fuses. Unfortunately of course, D’Artagnan knows nothing of their existence, so who knows how much time he wasted trying to douse what any of you would have known was impossible to put out?

“He said he was thrown several feet when they eventually did ignite, so he was very close, I suspect. In any event, I asked D’Artagnan how he knew where to pursue Vadim after he escaped. He said he had a hunch- in all the time he was inside with him and his men, not once did Vadim mention the plight of the poor and underprivileged, or any gripe against the King. He suspected he was nothing more than a common- if somewhat inventive- thief. A canny observation, one that we of course came to make ourselves once the evidence around him surfaced these last few days. So that made D’Artagnan head directly towards the vault where the crown jewels are kept.”

“How the hell did he obtain a sword?” 

“I asked him that very question- he said you know how the halls leading to the crown jewels have swords on the walls? He said they may be decorative, but they’re real swords. He simply smashed one of the cases and used it.”

“Resourceful. How was his state of mind? I mean, he may be in shock-“, Aramis asked.

Treville said, “My impression was one of disappointment in himself. More than once when he described providing us with the misinformation that Vadim had wanted him to impart, he apologized profusely. He seemed a bit embarrassed that he wasn’t smart enough to know that Vadim had seen right through him. He said Vadim led him around by the nose. I tried to impress upon him that it is the ultimate outcome of the mission that matters, but I believe he simply felt that I was being patronizing.”

“We’ll reinforce that he did a good job, Captain, rest assured,” Aramis said.

  
Indeed, it was the next morning when the three Inseparables were all around the Garrison dining table that they witnessed D’Artagnan walking down the Garrison steps, looking fit as a fiddle.

As he approached the table, some of the men broke into applause; as word of what D’Artagnan had accomplished had spread, many were impressed.

D’Artagnan wasn’t sure how to react, or if the response was even for him. He looked embarrassed, and sat down next to Aramis, Porthos, and Athos.

Porthos smacked him hard on the shoulder; it was all D’Artagnan could do to suppress a groan.

“Well done, pup! The whole Garrison’s buzzin’ about how you took Vadim down single-handed an’ all!”

D’Artagnan smiled shyly. “It was the least I could do given-“, he hesitated. It still stung his pride how Vadim had played him for a fool. It didn’t help that he was conscious of Athos’ glare. He was the only one, after all, not smiling.

“Given what?” Aramis asked.

“Never mind.” D’Artagnan avoided looking at anyone in the eyes, directing his attention to the bowl of food that Serge had thrust upon him as soon as he had sat down. He did manage a glance at Athos, and what he saw, whether or not it was there or not, was judgment. And not in a positive way. After all, it was he that refused to help train him for the mission, telling him to his face that he was ill-equipped to pull it off. 

Athos, Aramis and Porthos, all being mindful of what Treville had mentioned to them yesterday at the debriefing meeting, all shared glances with one another. This was not how a Musketeer or recruit should be behaving after having successfully completing a mission.

They were about to press the point and get to the bottom of D’Artagnan’s mood when Treville approached.

Treville asked, “D’artagnan, did you clean the stables last night?” 

D’Artagnan’s eyes widened in horror: “Yes, Captain, I _swear_ I did; was it not satisfactory?” 

Treville laughed. “Apparently these three (glancing at the Inseparables) did not tell you the rules- if a Musketeers is on, or recovering from, a mission, no need to do menial chores. They can be delegated to someone else. That rule, by the way, applies to recruits.”

Porthos asked D’Artagnan, “When the hell did ya clean up the stables??”

D’Artagnan replied, “Last night I awoke late, and remembered I hadn’t done so, so I did it then. Everyone was asleep.” Then the boy addressed the Captain. “Captain, they may have told me I needn’t clean the stables, but I must have forgotten…”... 

…to which Aramis, burying his head in his hands, said “Oh God D’Artagnan, don’t make it worse by covering for us.” 

Treville said to D’Artagnan, “Well, Pierre was up and saw you and happened to mention it to me this morning. I believe, then, that Athos, Aramis, and Porthos may have been taking undue advantage of your apprenticeship, making sure to tell you about the menial chores you should perform for them and the entire Garrison, but leaving the part out about when you need not perform them.” With that, he threw the three of them a withering, but not entirely mean, glare. 

While Athos and Aramis begin to protest, Porthos raised his hand, and smiled, “Well, I may have been taking a _little_ advantage…”, and they all laughed at that. 

Aramis then told D’Artagnan that he’d appreciate it if he could examine the wounds sustained on the mission. D’Artagnan blanched a bit, but then just said “Alright, but just you.” He threw Athos a glance, then looked away.

As the two ascended the Garrison stairs, Athos asked, “What was that about?”

Porthos said, “Those wounds ‘a his, to him, are Vadim literally adding injury to insult, and he doesn’t want you to see ‘em. They’re a physical reminder of how he believes he failed you. How Vadim saw right through ‘em. Simple as that.” 

After several minutes, Porthos and Athos went to check how Aramis was faring with D’Artagnan. 

It was Porthos’ and Athos’ first visual evidence of the torture perpetuated on D’Artagnan’s body. D’Artagnan saw them and tried to cover himself up, but was reprimanded by Aramis, who was not done tending to him.

Porthos winced; Athos simply seethed, throwing an angry glare at the boy, and then simply walked out. D’Artagnan frowned at Athos’ murderous countenance. 


	11. Chapter 11

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> In which Jacques Bonacieux is an ass, and Athos blames D'artagnan for it.

It was no secret that Jacques Bonacieux had taken an immediate dislike to D’Artagnan. Once he reappeared at his home while being imprisoned with Vadim, Jacques had branded him a criminal worthy of being behind the bars he was sent to. Even his exoneration by the Musketeers didn’t change his overall view of D’Artagnan as a troublemaker.

In truth, Jacques had made his mind up about the boy when he found out how he convinced his wife to dress as a prostitute in order to distract the guards at the camp where Gaudet’s men were. Once he discovered the boy had actually survived the ordeal, he was ready to kick him out, furious with the brigand, and it was only Constance’s passionate urging that such a thing would never happen again that calmed him down. She was actually convinced that his decision was made when she reminded him that he would need to go through the entire process of getting another boarder if he did kick him out, and he didn’t want to go through the bother of doing so.

Jacques, unfortunately, seemed to have his distaste for D’Artagnan grow and grow. He somehow managed to blame the boy for the explosion with Vadim; after his business trip he had discussed matters with his neighbors, one of which suffered a minor injury in the blast. Jacques insisted that since it was D’Artagnan’s responsibility to stop Vadim on that mission, he should have found a way to prevent the explosion. The boy could do no good, as far as he was concerned. The fact that he wasn’t as prompt with his rent payments as he’d like didn’t help. 

It seemed as if any opportunity to hurt the boy would not be unexploited. Constance found herself in D’Artagnan’s room when he was at the Garrison, still recuperating from the Vadim mission. She could not find his things, which amounted to nothing more than some clothes, as far as she could tell.

After she was certain they weren’t there, she asked Jacques. 

“I threw them all out.”

“You did what? Why?”

“It was after I had learned that he was arrested for dueling. Right then I knew that I would never allow a criminal to set foot in this house again.”

“But it was a ruse! He wasn’t really-“

“And how was I supposed to know that? I have a reputation to uphold, a wife to protect!” (Constance didn’t miss the priority order she’d just received from her husband.) “Plus, I assumed he would be spending a longer time in jail- a lifetime, if we were lucky!”

Constance just sighed. She would need to be on the alert- she knew her husband enough to know that he had a vindictive streak for anyone he didn’t care for. 

As it was, D’Artagnan, cleared by Aramis as well enough to return to the Bonacieux residence, returned at the end of the day. Lucky for him, Jacques was not home.

Constance greeted him warmly, and he gave a weak smile. Even though he had spent it resting and watching the Musketeers train, he was ready to retire to his room.

Constance said, “D’Artagnan, I’m sorry to inform you that my husband discarded all of your belongings shortly after you were arrested. He didn’t expect your return, and this was prior to him knowing it was all part of a Musketeer plan. I’m so sorry.”

D’Artagnan stopped, then simply gave a little smirk. “It’s alright, Madame; perhaps I would have done the same, what with a wife to protect.”

Having him be so understanding made it worse, for some reason.

Suddenly, D’Artagnan turned and asked Constance, “Um- Madame, did you say he threw out everything?”

‘Yes, I believe so; I could not find anything in your room. Why? What is it?”

D’Artagnan then said, “No, it’s- it’s nothing,” but his face said otherwise.

“Tell me.” Constance could see how upset he suddenly was.

“It’s just- I had a wooden cross. It was from my father. I usually always wear it; ironically, I deliberately left it here that day I went dueling to get thrown in jail, thinking, _what if I lose it or someone takes it while I am in jail?”_ He gave a mirthless smile.

“Oh, D’Artagnan, I’m so sorry…”

“It’s alright, Constance. It isn’t your fault. Now if you will excuse me…”

And with that, he retired to his room.

Constance felt furious; her husband would not hurt this good young man again, if she were to help it.

Little did she know that the little incident that awoke her and her husband in the middle of that very night would be used as a weapon against D’Artagnan. It had left the poor boy utterly embarrassed and humiliated, and her heart broke for him.

  
That next morning, the four men were all huddled around the Garrison table when Jacques Bonacieux walked over. Not an expected sight, it was however very possible that he had been selling his wares close by.

Jacques looked cheerful. “Good morning, gentlemen.”

”Good morning,” Aramis replied. “May we help you?”

“I was just checking to see if my boarder here was alright. He gave us quite the scare last night.”

All eyes looked to D’Artagnan, who suddenly looked as if he was turning pale.

“What do you mean, Monsieur?” Athos asked.

“Well, the boy woke my wife and me up in the middle of the night, screaming out. He was yelling ‘forgive me, Athos! I’m _sorry,_ I’ll do better, Athos!’ over and over again. It was very distressing- to the boy, obviously.”

D’Artagnan’s eyes opened wide. He looked panicked, and straight down at the table, deliberately avoiding everyone’s gaze.

“It was as if he was an eight year old child, needing his parents’ consoling. Such an overgrown child. His nightmare-“

With this, D’Artagnan jumped up from the table, walking swiftly towards Jacques-

“D’Artagnan D’Artagnan D’ARTAGNAN-“ Aramis yelled out-

-only to watch D’Artagnan walk past Monsieur Bonacieux, quickly towards the Garrison stairs, and up them. He took the stairs two at a time.

“My apologies, Monsieur; I thought the boy was going to punch you in the nose.” Aramis stated.

“More’s the pity,” Porthos muttered, not really under his breath.

“And you deemed it necessary to impart this information because-?” Athos asked Jacques.

“Well, I believed it important, if you were to consider this young man for a Musketeer uniform, you may wish to know how he sounded like a scared child, not a man who would be worthy of a pauldron. I mean, what’s next, will my wife need to be changing his sheets because he wet the bed?”

Porthos shot up after that. 

Athos chose to try to diffuse the situation quickly. “Your concern has been noted. Thank you, and good day, sir.”

Once you’re dismissed by Athos, you know it. Jacques waved his goodbye and began walking away. He could not resist one more jab as he walked away. “Like a scared baby, he sounded.”

The three of them sat there, shaking their heads. 

“That man infuriates me,” Porthos said.

“It’s D’Artagnan that infuriates me,” Athos said.

“How so?” Aramis asked.

“He obviously wanted to upset and humiliate D’Artagnan. And what does D’Artagnan do? Instead of standing up to the man, and showing that his opinion means _nothing_ to him, he instead gets all upset, walks off, and as a result that ‘person’ gloats and is rewarded with seeing that he hurt the boy, which was _exactly_ what he wanted to do. D’Artagnan shouldn’t have given him the satisfaction.”

“How do you manage to take a scenario where D’Artagnan is the wronged party, and somehow turn it into an inappropriate anger towards D’Artagnan himself? Excuse me, but have you met D’Artagnan? Can’t you see how much of an open book that boy is? You can read his emotions on his face from a mile away- I truly believe him incapable of hiding his feelings. You can’t fault him for that,” Aramis scolded his friend. 

“Perhaps- I just hate to see that worthless man, ten of whom isn’t worth a single D’Artagnan, get the better of him like that. He should have a thicker skin.”

“Shouldn’t we see to the boy?” Porthos asked.

Aramis, always the one with the keenest sense of a person’s emotional needs, said “Give him a few minutes to himself. Then I’ll go up.”

“Not that I am a proponent of attributing meanings to dreams, but…why do you think…” Athos began.

“I believe it simply means it’s time to have that conversation with him about how proud you are with him about his dispatching Vadim. And since it was your name he screamed out this morning, Athos, it should be you.”

Never particularly fond of such heart to hearts, Athos figured it might be worth it to squirm out of the request, at least just once.

“I don’t see why this can’t be a group conversation.”

Aramis sighed. “I am not particularly fond of all three of us ganging up on the boy at this moment, Athos. However, it could be, my brother, but- and I don’t say this to be cruel- it wasn’t Porthos or I that accused him of being ill-equipped to manage this mission. Once you uttered those words, it was left to Porthos and me to pick up the pieces of his drop in confidence.”

“He kept doubting himself. When we were trainin’ ‘em, ‘e kept wondering aloud if he had the proper abilities to succeed, and we told him ‘e’d be fine, he’d say ‘but Athos said that I’m not equipped with the tools required to pull this off.’” Porthos said.

“That is verbatim what I told him,” Athos commented.

“Still think that kid doesn’t hang on your every word?” Porthos said.

“Listen, Athos, while Porthos and I have gotten used to your, for lack of a better phrase, word economy, I think that D’Artagnan craves your encouragement. Add to that is the fact that you walked in on us yesterday, glanced at his wounds, then shot him an angry stare, and walked out. He took it as you being angry at him, not Vadim. So you see why it should be you that reinforces how good a job he did with Vadim, hmmm?” Aramis said.

Athos said, shocked, “I was _not_ angry with him! It was _Vadim_ that I wanted to draw and quarter, not…”

“Of course that’s true, mon ami, but with D’Artagnan already thinking what he was thinking, suddenly your wordless angry glare was all the boy needed to confirm that your anger was directed at him, and that he failed you, us, everyone.” 

Athos nodded. “I’ll go see to him then. But I would like your presence as well- I tend to put my foot in my mouth sometimes.” 

“No….!,” Porthos mocked.

Then, all three then went to ascend the Garrison stairs.

When they found D’Artagnan in one of the rooms upstairs, he was sitting on a chair, looking lost and a bit bereft. 

“D’Artagnan, may we come in?” Aramis asked gently.

The boy looked up and had a look of stricken shame. He appeared as if he was holding back tears, and weak was the last thing he wanted to be seen by these three men.

Athos contained his anger at the boy not having a thicker skin; after all, if D’Artagnan was upset over this, then that fool Bonacieux wins. But then he recalled Aramis’ words.

“Yes,” D’Artagnan finally managed.

Athos, out of the blue, asked him, ‘D’Artagnan, may I ask how you feel you did with the entire Vadim mission?”

Porthos and Aramis shot Athos a questioning look.

D’Artagnan seemed uncomfortable. “You- you know how I did. Please don’t make me say it,” he implored.

“Still, I’d rather hear you tell me.”

D’Artagnan shot Athos an incredulous look. In the short time that he had the opportunity to train with him, D’Artagnan had come to see him as a sometimes tough mentor, but up until now, he had not known him to be a cruel one.

“I- I _failed_ ,” he finally said. “You were right- he was smarter than I. He played me like a violin, and I was too stupid to see it.”

And there it was.

Suddenly, D’Artagnan has a panicked look on his face. Surely Athos had broached the subject because his worst fears were playing out- Athos must be kicking him out due to his failure. If Athos got him to agree with his own assessment of his botching the mission, then of course he wouldn’t be able to argue with the Lieutenant’s decision to dismiss him. 

“Athos- please- may I have another chance? I believe I can learn from my mistakes- if I can please stay on- please Athos-“…He hated how pathetic he must sound to these men, men who he had started to respect so much…

“D’Artagnan, _breathe!_ What are you talking about?” Aramis asked.

D’Artagnan, almost in tears, fought to pull himself together. “I thought- I thought I had to leave the G-Garrison.”

“Leave why? Because you felt you failed us?” Aramis asked.

“Yes,” D’Artagnan admitted. ‘Isn’t that why you’re asking how I felt I had done?”

“No, you idiot,” Porthos bellowed. “You seemed down in the dumps when you should be so proud of how you did, you imbecile!”

D’Artagnan looked confused. Athos offered an explanation.

“D’Artagnan, while you were in the jail with Vadim, we found out more information about him, about his history, that made it more evident that he wasn’t about to trust any outsiders, no matter how convincing their performance. Not you, nor Porthos, Aramis, or myself, could have cracked that veneer of suspicion. Nor did he have need of another, what with his cronies at his side. He was a career criminal, cynical, supremely suspicious.

“The problem with us obtaining this information was that you were already inside, and we had no way of alerting you that the mission objective, as a result, had therefore changed from intelligence gathering, to simple damage control. That meant simply stopping Vadim from accomplishing whatever it was he was planning, in any manner possible. And D’Artagnan, you did that; very impeccably, I might add. The manner in which you were able to kill Vadim- keeping your head while finding a sword, and besting him, all immediately after having been tortured and thinking you were going to die, shows both physical and mental strength.”

“You did great, boy, is what Athos is sayin’,“ Porthos underlining Athos’ comments.

D’Artagnan waited to absorb their words. 

“So- I can stay?” he asked.

Aramis laughed. “Oh, for God’s- yes, you can stay!”, he exclaimed.

Athos added, “And I apologize for claiming out of hand that you were unequipped to manage Vadim. Treville filled us in on the details of your mission. You showed real initiative, bravery and cunning. You should be proud of your performance, as I am.”

D’Artagnan found himself smiling at that. “Thank you.”

Porthos, ever the emotional teddy-bear of the group, grabbed the boy in a huge hug. Aramis followed with one of his own.

Athos, who still had a reputation to uphold, merely said “Let’s get back to training.”

They all began to head downstairs. And just like that, they managed to not mention that buffoon Bonaciex by name, but the embarrassment caused by the incident was ameliorated somewhat. 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> An enormous apology for my extremely belated THANK YOUS to all who have left Kudos for this story, as well as all of the Comments! They are all greatly appreciated!


	12. Chapter 12

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> In which the Inseparables get a scolding from Constance, and D'artagnan gets his head bit off from an unlikely source.

A few weeks later, Constance found herself in the Garrison, delivering some clothing needed by the Garrison, courtesy of her husband, when she ran across Porthos, Athos, and Aramis sitting at the Garrison table.

“Where is our trouble magnet?” She asked.

“Running an errand, Madame,” Aramis replied. 

“Good thing too. He was drivin’ us crazy with more questions.” Porthos said.

“He does seem to be in rare form today, doesn’t he?” Athos asked.

Aramis noticed Constance’s puzzled look, so he volunteered: ”Well, the truth of it is, we were running down a litany of annoying habits the young Gascon seems to have. The list contains, but is not limited to, his habit of slamming doors and drawers shut” (Porthos: “oh yeah- why simply shut a door quietly when you can slam it? Why walk across a floor when you can pound over it like an elephant???!!”); “and the current topic of conversation, the boy has a habit of rapid-fire questions about everything from foods to Paris life to our grandfathers…really, it seems he cannot help himself.”

‘Don’t forget his god-awful eating manners,” Athos thought to add. No one noticed it, but Porthos didn’t smile at that comment. 

“Typically it’s followed by us calling him by his new nickname ‘question’, followed by an urgent plea from us to, well, keep quiet,” Aramis continued.

“The plea usually comes in the form of a ’Shut the hell up’ from one or the other of us,” Athos added.

“Oh yes,” Aramis replied, laughing. Then he caught Constance’s withering gaze, and he quickly righted himself, adjusted his shirt, and added, “…which was wrong to say, of course…”

Constance began to sit down at the table. Everything about her demeanor and set of her posture told the three of them that a scolding was imminent.

“So what you’re saying is if that boy isn’t wielding a sword, or shooting a musket, you have no use for him, is that it? Let me tell you something about that boy. Whenever I can, I cook for him, and invite him to join us for dinner. This doesn’t always go over well with Jacques, so I try to do so whenever my husband is away on business and since it seems the lot of you can’t be bothered to invite him out, I reckon someone has to feed him!”

That got a few guilty gazes- this was a subject they had discussed before.

“The topic of conversation is invariably the three of you- I have to endure meal after meal of ‘oh! Aramis said the _most_ clever thing today!’, or ‘Porthos is amazing- he showed me an incredible wrestling move today!’, or ‘Athos this’ and ‘Athos that’- so help me God, there are times that I need to excuse myself from the table, for fear of rolling my eyes in his face because of his going on and on about the three of you. 

“He _adores_ each one of you so much, and looks up to all of you. So if I hear that when he comes to you for advice, or any sort of information a young man new to Paris may need to know, well, forgive me, but I do _not_ find berating him and telling him to _‘shut up’_ amusing.”

The three remorseful looks Constance was now staring at told her everything she needed to know.

“We’ll do better, we swear, Madame,” said Aramis.

“See that you do. Do you know what he asked me the other night? Another night he was left to his own devices, I assume? He asked me-“- Constance was suddenly smiling- “apologies, he just looked so cute asking it- he asked, ‘Constance, may I ask- um, well, I was wandering around last night, and, er, um- what goes on on Rue de Rose?‘ 

“I said, ‘Rue de Rose? Rue de _Rose?_ You stay _off_ of Rue de Rose! Someone who looks like you, walking unescorted on Rue de Rose?’”

“They’ll think he’s a prostitute,” Porthos said.

“’They’ll think you’re a _prostitute_ ’, is exactly what I said to him! He looked at me and suddenly his face changed in recognition and he said. ‘Oh, now that makes sense…’ meaning that he was probably propositioned. Thank God something serious didn’t occur!

“So wouldn’t it be nice if he had someone- oh, say, the three of you- could help him when he has questions, instead of- telling him to _shut up?_ _Really?!?!_ \- To keep him out of more trouble? But I suppose that’s too much to ask- after all, he is so very annoying when he has the audacity to look to the three of you for answers!!!”

Aramis was shaking his head. “It’s bad enough he’s a trouble magnet; it would be worse if we didn’t do what we could to educate him on the ways of Paris to protect him.” 

“What’s this?” D’Artagnan, who suddenly appeared, asked.

Everyone startled, and then promptly gathered themselves.

“Nothing. I was just leaving,” Constance said. “Unless these three invite you to dinner, perhaps I’ll see you later?” Constance then diverted her gaze from D’Artagnan to the three men. 

“But I agree about the pounding walk and slammed doors,” she smiled as she threw a glance at the three of them, and then was off to go home. 

  
A few weeks later, the Musketeers were tasked with escorting Privateer Emile Bonnaire from Le Havre to Paris. After spending some time at Athos’ mansion, D’Artagnan noticed how Athos was wrestling with something- his past? He could not be sure.

Porthos ruined Aramis’ fine needlework trying to rip Bonnaire’s head off with the realization that his ‘cargo’ was people. It was Aramis’ decision that they break up the arrival to Paris and the Palace, to deliver Bonnaire, so that Porthos could mend some more. Porthos insisted, “I can ride”, but Aramis was more insistent.

“The Garrison Auxiliary is half way from here to Paris. We will make for the Auxiliary where you can take a rest, then we can continue to Paris.” 

The Auxiliary was a way station of sorts for Musketeers to train for missions of a particular covert or sensitive nature, away enough from Paris to provide the necessary privacy the mission may call for.

Once Athos announced to D’Artagnan in the field that he had some business to attend to in the village, he instructed the boy to go on with Porthos, Aramis and Bonnaire. He said that he would meet them all at the Auxiliary as soon as possible. Then they would all make it to Paris together. 

  
After Athos’ mansion lay in flames, and D’Artagnan vowing to keep the secrets that his mentor lay bare to him after saving his life, the boy made his way back to Aramis, a still wounded Porthos, and Bonnaire at the Garrison Auxiliary building. Luckily for him, Aramis had mentioned its location in passing prior to departing to search for Athos; if he had not, he would not have been able to leave Athos (which he was hesitant to do anyway) because Athos knew where it was from past missions. 

For his part, before he left to do some additional recon on his still very live wife, first Athos stopped by the cottage off to the side of his now ruined home. In the cottage, spared by the flames, he found clean clothes, and even was able to indulge himself of a nice bath, thus allowing him to clean himself of not only the grime and soot, but the lingering feeling of loss and shock. 

D’Artagnan reunited with Aramis late that evening. Aramis was livid.

“Where have you been?” D’Artagnan had never seen his new friend so angry. 

D’Artagnan realized he never informed Aramis where he was going- at some point, he had found himself back on his horse, and something he wasn’t certain he could name had him going back in the direction of Athos’ home. He truly felt at the time that he would turn back and return to join Aramis and Porthos on their way to the Auxiliary building, but somehow as his concern for Athos rose, he realized he kept going. Once he saw smoke on the horizon, he realized he forgot all about Bonnaire, and he was literally in a race towards Athos’ home.

It was only now, in front of Aramis, that technically, he went absent without leave, a term our fair readers may be familiar with; at the time of our story, however, it was known as one terrible thing- desertion.

“I’m waiting for an answer!” This was so unlike Aramis- he could always count on for being the compassionate, understanding one. But he was furious.

“I- I’d rather not say,” was all that D’Artagnan uttered. 

This only fueled Aramis’ rage.

The boy was suddenly struggling to recall exactly what Athos had asked him to keep quiet- was it simply his past history, or all of it, including the fire?

He thought Athos may have said that he should say nothing about ‘any of this’, so he felt he had better keep silent about the fire as well. He thought. It was hard to keep his thoughts straight, however, as Aramis yelling at him was certainly throwing his mind off.

“I beg your pardon? D’Artagnan. You left me with _no_ cover, a wounded Porthos, and a crafty Bonnaire. What if that slimy devil decided to take advantage of the situation, and attempted to escape? He knew that I couldn’t leave Porthos alone. So I ask you again- where did you go off to? And by the way, you reek of- of smoke! Were you in a fire? Where _were_ you? And think very hard about making sure you tell me the truth.”

“I’m sorry, Aramis- but I- apologies. I can’t-I mean, I’d rather not say…”

Aramis was incredulous, shocked at D’Artagnan’s response; but more than anything, he was still seeing red.

“I’m not asking if you were in a fire; clearly, you were. Were you hurt? Was _anyone_ hurt?”

D’Artagnan did not want to repeat himself, so he simply nodded no.

“Here is what you’re going to do. See if you can find some new clothes somewhere in this house, go down to the lake, get yourself washed out of that soot, then keep watch over Bonnaire and DO NOT MOVE until you’re told. Do you understand?”

D’Artagnan said, “Yes, Aramis- apologies for-“

“I don’t want to hear another word from your mouth unless it is an explanation for your behavior last night.”

D’Artagnan began to leave, not wishing to disobey Aramis again.

As he was leaving, Aramis said, “Treville will have to be told. This was desertion on your part, the most serious of offenses while on a mission.”

That stopped D’Artagnan in his tracks.

“Aramis. _Please!”_

‘Tell me what happened last night, and perhaps I won’t have to. If there is some sort of explanation, perhaps we can sort it out and keep this between us.”

D’Artagnan froze; then he lowered his head, said “Apologies,” then walked off. 

Aramis seethed. Part of it was that this was the first time that D’Artagnan had disappointed him. Perhaps he was a bit more immature than he was giving him credit for. Had he secretly made some friends around his own age since he had come to Paris that they didn’t know about, that perhaps had led him down a bad path? If so, had they all gotten in some sort of trouble last night that the boy was ashamed to admit? He hated how he now had doubts about the boy he had become so fond of. 


	13. Chapter 13

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> In which Athos clears the air, and D'artagnan gets a visit from some loving relatives.

Athos finally made it to the others the next morning; he had decided to spend the evening in his cottage, still shaken by the events of the previous evening.

He was met by Aramis, who looked concerned.

“Are you well?” He asked his friend. Yesterday, when D’Artagnan had told him that Athos said he had some personal business to attend to, Aramis had no issue with the man’s request; after all, D’Artagnan was still with him at the time.

“All is well here? How is Porthos?”

“Still on the mend. Athos, I have to tell you something- it pains me to inform you that yesterday after you left, D’Artagnan up and disappeared with no explanation. In short, he deserted us. When I asked where he had been once he returned late last night, he refused to say anything; he just kept repeating, ’I’d rather not say’, which infuriated me more and more, I must say.”

“Really.”

“Yes. Now, listen to me. I lost my temper with him, and impressed upon him in no uncertain terms how serious an offense it is to desert a mission. It’s time to teach him an important lesson, but that lesson will become diluted unless we form a united front. I don’t want to send the boy mixed signals- if I’m furious with him, you need to be as well, understand?”

“Of- of course. Where is he now?”

‘If he knows what’s good for him, all cleaned up by now and watching Bonnaire.”

Sure enough, that’s where D’Artagnan was. When the boy saw Athos, he jumped from his seat.

“Athos. Are you alright?” D’Artagnan asked. He made it clear last night that he had reservations in leaving Athos alone in the state he was in.

“I am fine, thanks to you. And you?”

D’Artagnan looked crestfallen. “Aramis is furious with me.”

“I heard.”

Dealing with Bonnaire, and Aramis’ sudden appearance, prevented the two from having any further words on the subject of what transpired the previous night.

  
While Athos was loathe to discuss his pained past, on the other hand he was no coward. That meant coming clean to Aramis (and Porthos as well as his Captain) about the entire sordid affair with his wife, including the details of his dead brother Thomas, and D’Artagnan’s role in saving his life from the fire. Now that the Bonnaire episode was completed, he certainly wasn’t going to allow Aramis to present D’Artagnan as a deserter to Treville.

But he wanted to tell this story once only. 

Once he did, in Treville’s office with Porthos, Aramis and the Captain present, Aramis was furious again- this time with having Athos allowing him to think less of D’Artagnan.

‘Not telling you wasn’t my finest moment, certainly. But it is- difficult to discuss my failings and shame…easily.”

“Don’t sound as if there’s anythin’ for you to be ashamed of, Athos,” Porthos offered.

“In retrospect, I wish I hadn’t come down so hard on the boy,” Aramis confessed. “If only he hadn’t repeatedly said ‘I’d rather not say’; ohh, that really got me going!”

“He had to!” Porthos said. “He couldn’t ‘a’ told ya what actually happened, because he made a vow to Athos, but-“

Aramis interrupted, “But he couldn’t have come up with something better than ‘I’d rather not say’???”

“No, he _couldn’t_ , and that’s the point,” Porthos continued. “Like I said, he promised Athos, but saying anything else would mean he would be lyin’ to you, which he couldn’t do. He has too much respect for you to make somethin’ up- he couldn’t tell the truth, yet he would never make up a story, which would be disrespecting you. Kid was put in a tough spot,” Porthos said, not helping but look at Athos as he said it.

Aramis was surprised, as well as grateful for Porthos’ perceptive analysis of the corner D’Artagnan had been put in.

Athos frowned. “My apologies. I am of the mind now that none of us would be serving the truth well by doubting that boy’s loyalty or honor. He’s a noble young man.”

  
During a training session with Aramis, with Athos and Porthos looking on, the expert marksman asked D’Artagnan, “So you decided to no longer wear your cross during training?”

D’Artagnan asked, “What?”

“I recall admiring your cross- which I haven’t seen you wearing recently? I believe you had mentioned it was a gift from your father when I inquired of it?”

“Oh. Well, I- I no longer have it.” 

“I’m sorry. Lost in jail, was it? Or somewhere else?”

D’Artagnan looked reluctant to reveal its disposition.

“Actually, Monsieur Bonacieux threw it away. With all my belongings.”

“He did _what?_ Why did he-“ Porthos erupted.

“It was when I was in jail, and he thought I was a criminal. It’s alright- Constance has been lending me additional clothing along with the Garrison surplus. I will just need to procure new clothing, I suppose.”

“But your cross- that is irreplaceable,” Aramis said.

“I know! But there’s nothing to be done. Can we proceed, please?”

It was clear the boy didn’t want to discuss it further.

  
No sooner did D’Artagnan’s old energetic, happy self return, when suddenly one day he became sullen, withdrawn, and quiet. Gone was the boy they had branded ‘question’ and replacing him was a sad, quiet, gloomy young man, one who seemed to be reveling in his own personal melancholy.

When Aramis asked if there was anything wrong, D’Artagnan simply said no and that he was being silly, and not to worry about it. 

About an hour after that exchange, a middle-aged couple crossed the Garrison threshold. When D’Artagnan saw them, he exclaimed, “Aunt Louise? Uncle Henri?!?”

“Charles! We found you!” The lady exclaimed.

Porthos, Athos and Aramis then witness D’Artagnan run across the Garrison and grab the lady in a huge hug.

“My sweet!” She says. The man who D’Artagnan’s identified as Uncle Henri watched, fondly.

After a few moments, two things started to become apparent: one was that D’Artagnan was in no hurry to break this hug with his Aunt anytime soon.

The second was that D’Artagnan was crying; more accurately, he was sobbing, holding onto his Aunt fiercely.

“I know, my sweet, I know- it is a sad day…” Aunt Louise says, softly, while gently patting the boy’s back and ruffling his hair lovingly, allowing the boy to continue to sob into her blouse.

“Father or mother’s birthday?” Aramis guesses.

D’Artagnan then addressed his Uncle, and repeated the hug with him, while remaining inconsolable.

Finally collecting himself, D’Artagnan allowed himself to be further manhandled by his Aunt and Uncle a bit more, with each of them pinching his cheeks and acting as you would expect loving relatives to greet a beloved nephew they haven’t seen in a while.

D’Artagnan, minding his manners, then introduced them to his friends.

After the introductions were over, Aunt Louise mentioned, “It’s my brother’s birthday today- Charles’ father.”

They all offered their condolences. 

“What are you doing here then?” D’Artagnan asked.

“We had some business in town and knew we had to look you up while we were here!” Uncle Henri answered.

“We were hoping to have dinner together, Charles. Would that be possible?”

D’Artagnan, always one to take his lead from one of the three Inséparables, looked to the three of them for their approval.

”I don’t see why not,” Athos said. “There are no missions pressing on his time.” 

“You must be Athos.” Aunt Louise suddenly announced.

“And you two are Porthos and Aramis,” Uncle Henri quickly added.

The three men were taken aback.

Seeing their confusion, Aunt Louise said, “D’Artagnan has written us. He speaks highly about the three of you. He seems to love and admire you all a lot,” Aunt Louise stated in a manner keeping with a relative either ignorant of or uncaring if such a comment would lead to their young nephew’s embarrassment or not.

While D’Artagnan blushed, Uncle Henri suddenly exclaimed, “Well then gentlemen, if no missions are pressing on your time either, then consider yourselves also invited to dinner with us tonight!”

“We accept!” Porthos boomed out.


	14. Chapter 14

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> In which D'artagnan is fresh, and Constance parades him in front of her best friend.

Dinner at a local tavern was a boisterous affair. To D’Artagnan’s increasingly mortified realization, his Aunt and Uncle turned the dinner conversation into one embarrassing story after another about how cute Charles was as a child, what a wonderful boy he was, and so on.

“He was so adorable as a baby- when his mother would parade him around in his pram, complete strangers would come up to her and ask if they could pinch his cheeks. It’s a wonder he wasn’t always black and blue growing up, what with everyone kissing him and pinching those adorable cheeks. And he was all eyes- two beautiful brown eyes and rosy cheeks!!”

Uncle Henri was no better, but it was Aunt Louise who seemed to have no end of her adorable Charles stories.

“The first word he learned was ‘hi’ and when he would see anyone, he would wave and yell it- ‘hi!’. He was so cute, everyone would just smile and say ‘hi’ back.”

D’Artagnan, sitting right next to his Aunt, and trying not to die of embarrassment, suddenly leaned back a bit, and while she rambled on and on, he hid from her and proceeded to circle his index finger around his tilting head, as if to say, ‘she’s crazy, you know!’ 

The Inséparables all laughed out loud.

Aunt Louise stopped for a moment, wondering what it was that she said that was so funny. But she didn’t miss a beat as she dove right into another Charles childhood story.

D’Artagnan hid behind his Aunt again, but this time, he pretended to take a swig out of an imaginary cup, shook his head and rolled his eyes as if drunk. The implication being clear- don’t listen to a word my Aunt is saying. She is _smashed._

Porthos, Aramis, and even Athos were now roaring.

Aunt Louise, no stranger to her nephew’s mischievous side, suddenly pointed to D’Artagnan and asked everyone, “Is he being fresh?”

D’Artagnan quickly nodded ‘no’ to his friends, prompting them for some solidarity.

“Yes, Aunt Louise, he is being fresh,” Porthos blurted out, still laughing.

“Porthos! All for one!” D’Artagnan yelled, in mock shock at Porthos’ betrayal. Aunt Louise then proceeded to knock on D’Artagnan’s dome, while the boy began to yell for his Uncle’s assistance. “Uncle Henri! Help! She’s hitting me!”

_Alright, that’s it,_ Porthos thought; _if this kid gets any more adorable, I’m gonna explode._

At some point in the dinner, Aunt Louise recalled the tragic instance around D’Artagnan’s mother’s death.

“My sister-in-law was the best you could ever wish for-after she passed- poor D’Artagnan was only eight- I did what I could to help. She had been ill for a long time, and-“

At this point, D’Artagnan, looking upset, simply whispered something into his Aunt’s ear.

“Of course, my dear- I’m so sorry. Anyway, what about you gentlemen? I’m sure you have some wonderful stories about some heroic missions that you can share with us!”

What Aunt Louise would not share with anyone was the plea from her nephew- all he had said to her was ‘change the subject’ over and over. Clearly his mother’s passing was still a source of not just a little pain. 

  
The next day, after having said goodbye to his departing aunt and uncle, D’Artagnan accompanied the Inséparables on a brief mission against some local gang who were robbing citizens, and in the fray, several minor injuries mounted up by the four of them, including one for D’Artagnan, the result of jumping from a roof in order to capture one the gang members. The boy’s apprehension of the man was successful; what was more successful was the resulting bruising to the young man’s side, making it painful to walk. 

By the time they all returned to the Garrison, it was late; later still since Aramis insisted in inventorying each of their bruises and wounds from the day. 

At the same time, finally, Constance’s friend Celeste was visiting. Her timing was perfect, as Jacques was out of town. Constance had confided in her growing feelings for D’Artagnan in her letters to her trusted friend, and she was looking for a confidant to express her feelings to, and perhaps help sort them out. Celeste had written back that she was curious to meet the young man, and be there for her best friend in the world, as best as she could.

They had sent the day together, walking and shopping in town, and they returned late in the day. The unofficial plan was for D’Artagnan to come home and then Celeste would meet (and size up) D’Artagnan, in order for her to provide her opinion of him to Constance. They were in a sitting room upstairs.

As the early evening wore on, however, and they were well past the time that she would typically hear D’Artagnan use his key to enter her home, she began to worry.

She kept busy as much as possible with more fond reminisces of growing up with Celeste, and she also fumbled with the fruit bought at the market, but as each minute passed, she was getting more anxious and angry- how could he do this to her, worry her on the day she wanted to parade him in front of her friend?

Celeste sensed her friend’s anxiety and helped to calm her as best she could by keeping up the conversation.

The more worried Constance was getting, the more upset she was; and she knew why. _My God, I’ve got it bad for this boy,_ she thought, and being married she didn’t know what to do with those feelings.

Finally, a familiar giggling of the front door key was heard, and the door opened. Constance fought her instinct to jump up and see how D’Artagnan was; no, she would show some restraint and wait for him to come upstairs.

Celeste saw the inner turmoil in her friend’s face, so she continued the small talk, but it was clear Constance wasn’t hearing a word she was saying. 

They heard movement, but it was painfully slow; D’Artagnan typically took the stairs two at a time, and when he would see Constance each night, he would flash a big smile and say “Good evening, Madame,” recently even getting less formal and calling her Constance. It was the best part of her day.

Finally, her patience spent, she got up and walked to the stairwell. What the hell was taking him so long? There, still only half-way up the stairs, was D’Artagnan. He looked a proper mess.

Suddenly, he looked up at her, and with a weary smile that melted her heart, he said, “Hello,” then he lowered his head and resumed his deliberate, slow, and arduous task of climbing the stairs. He was clearly in pain.

“What happened?” She demanded.

“Um-“ he began. He had learned by now never to lie to Constance, or keep anything from her. “I- jumped from a roof. Nothing serious, I assure you.” 

“And if I were to ask Aramis the same question?”

“Really, Constance, I-“

She realized her grilling could wait until he successfully completed his ascent of the stairs. He sounded winded by simply speaking.

Finally at the top of the stairwell, D’Artagnan noticed Celeste, who had also come to greet him.

“Oh- apologies- you have company.”

”D’Artagnan, say hello to my friend Celeste.”

“My pleasure to make your acquaintance,” D’Artagnan said. Then, to Constance, “I don’t mean to intrude. I will just be taking my leave and retire to my room.”

“Are you hungry?” Constance asked.

“No, just weary from a long day, thank you.”

“Alright, just let me know if you need any help with anything.” 

“Thank you.” Then, to Celeste: “Again, very nice to meet you. If you will excuse me,” and he slowly made his way to his room. 

Once his back was to the two of them, Celeste smiled and mouthed the words ‘he’s _gorgeous’_ to Constance, who could only smile back.

After D’Artagnan was in his room for a few minutes, Constance excused herself from Celeste’s company and knocked on D’Artagnan’s door.

“Come,” she heard, and she let herself in.

Once inside, she saw D’Artagnan struggling to divest himself from his outer shirt, and she muttered “I knew it- hold on a second,” and promptly helped him out of it. “Sit down and I’ll help you out of those boots. I can tell it will pain you to reach for them.”

“Thank you. That would be appreciated.”

While she helped him, she said “I’m sure Athos praised your well thought-out, not at all impulsive decision to jump off of a roof?”

D’Artagnan smiled. “He may have had a comment or two about it.”

She noticed something greasy underneath his other shirt. “What’s this?”

“Just some salve that Aramis applied to ease the pain of the bruise.”

She unconsciously touched his exposed side, prompting a loud “OWW! What are you doing??” 

“I- I don’t know,” she said, suddenly smiling.

“Well, then maybe _don’t,”_ and then he was chuckling.

“Do you need any more help getting comfortable in bed?” She was still laughing.

“Um- with help like _this_ ,” he said, still grinning.

“Hey! _That’s_ the thanks I get?” She said in mock indignation.

“No! Constance! I was kidding of course,” he said, not wishing to insult her.

“I know you were, you idiot, now get some rest and let me know if there is anything else you need.”

“Thank you. What would I do without you?” 

”Starve and walk into walls, is my guess,” she replied.

He laughed and laid back and began to rest. He looked at her fondly, throwing her that shy smile that she had come to adore. For his part, D’Artagnan felt a surge of…did he dare call it love? No, simple admiration, surely, for this extraordinary woman, who was headstrong and kind and smelled so good and had the most beautiful, caring eyes… 

Outside the room, Celeste admitted she had heard every word of the exchange- she apologized but Constance hushed her- the house had a tendency to make anyone hear anything said, no matter where they were.

Constance said, “So I expected for you and him to spend a little more time together so that you can get a better impression of him, but of course the trouble magnet has to throw himself off of a _roof t_ oday…”

“That’s alright- first of all, he’s so cute- I suppose I painted a portrait of him in my mind based on your letters, but in my wildest imaginings could I have envisioned someone so good looking. But he also is very polite and sweet.”

“Yes, he is. And someone that good looking you might expect to be vain and getting himself into all sorts of trouble; instead, do you know what he did the other day? Our dangling spit has been sitting in disrepair for ages now; and whenever I complained about it, goodness knows it fell on deaf ears with my husband. So one day I came home and found it all fixed and hanging up in my kitchen. When I asked who in the world had fixed it, D’Artagnan said that he did. When I asked him how on earth did he even know that it was broken, do you know what that sweet boy said? He simply shrugged his shoulders and said, ‘You mentioned it once.’”

Celeste said, “What struck me with you and him was- how familiar the two of you seem to be with one another! I mean, you were both laughing together and seem to be good friends.”

Constance thought about it. “We have become very good friends. I just seem to be- yearning for more. He brings excitement to my day, but I have to wonder- is it the excitement that goes hand in hand with him being a Musketeer recruit that I am drawn to, or is it himself that I am attracted to? And even if it is him, what am I to do about it? I am a- I’m _married!”_

“Were you about to say ‘a happily married woman’, then stopped yourself?”, Celeste asked, quite observantly.

“Jacques has been good to me.”

“That’s not what I asked, my good friend, but perhaps that’s your answer. I would support any decision that you make, but know it wouldn’t be easy to make such a move. Plus, he is a young man who, as far as you’ve conveyed to me, can barely make the rent. How is he to provide for you, if he can barely provide for himself?”

“I know- but…”

“I want you to be happy, Constance, but your decision must be an informed one, and one where you think of all of these things.

“Of course, you can have the best worlds by staying with Jacques, and cheating with D’Artagnan!”

They both laughed.


	15. Chapter 15

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> In which D'Artagnan's tongue gets him in trouble. Again. And his brothers can't help but tease him mercilessly.

The conversation at the Wren Tavern had turned into another theme and variation of what had rapidly become a favorite topic of Porthos’ and Aramis’, and, if a musket was put to his head to get him to also admit it, Athos’- teasing D’Artagnan.

While they finished off the last of some bread and wine they had been eating and drinking, the topic was card playing, and the consensus was- that D’Artagnan was terrible. Monumentally terrible.

“I am a good card player!” D’Artagnan insisted.

“Tell me, pup; have you ever won a hand?” Porthos asked.

D’Artagnan replied, “I-I’ve come close!”

Aramis conceded, “Oh, yes, D’Artagnan, I’m sure there have been times when you’ve been right in there, just before you…lose.” 

“My impression of D’Artagnan with a good hand,” Porthos began. He proceeded to look down at an imaginary hand of cards, and began to open his eyes very, very wide.

“I do not do that!” D’Artagnan insisted, smiling despite himself.

Aramis, now laughing, said, “My impression of D’Artagnan with a VERY good hand,” and he imitated Porthos’ wide eyed gaze; only he added an idiotic grin. 

Porthos burst out laughing. “Oh yeah- who could forget that ridiculous grin?” 

“Wait! Yes, I have won hands!”

“We’re not talking about hands where everyone folds because of the laughable look on your face; we’re talking about hands where you were called, raised the bet, and what not!” 

“How do you know that I don’t make that face with a lousy hand just to get everyone to fold and then I take their money?”

Porthos’ eyebrow rose, suddenly impressed. “Do you do that?”

D’Artagnan then began laughing so hard he could barely breathe. Through it he said, “No!”

They all roared helplessly at D’Artagnan’s pathetic confession. Even Athos emitted a rare ‘heh’, an actual laughing sound not often heard by human ears.

”Admit it- you’re a terrible card player!” Porthos insisted.

“I am not! Athos! Tell them!!!” 

Athos said, “D’Artagnan, in the short time I’ve known you, you’ve proven to be one of the most honest, decent, straightforward, honorable young men I’ve ever had the pleasure of meeting.”

That shut everyone up. Especially the boy, who appeared to be blushing.

“Unfortunately,” Athos continued, “it is exactly those same qualities that make you the absolute worst card player in the history of the world.”

“Athos!” D’Artagnan barely managed to scream, before breaking up laughing, along with the rest of them.

“See that, pup? Even Athos admits it!” Porthos said. 

D’Artagnan then flung a piece of fruit at Porthos’ head; after it found it’s mark, Porthos roared and leapt up to exact his revenge on the boy. D’Artagnan was still laughing and tried to get up and make his retreat, but to his horror his leg got stuck underneath the table, giving Porthos the time needed to reach him.

“No- no, Porthos, I’m sorry! Let me go!”

But Porthos proceeded to tickle the boy, who gave in to uncontrollable giggles. 

  
Once Marsac reared his head again, it didn’t take long for the former Musketeer and Aramis’ current friends to lock horns. D’Artagnan, especially, with his ‘neither are you’ comment about being a Musketeer, really inflamed him. Things escalated once D’Artagnan had to pry Marsac off of Constance.

D’Artagnan was then in the dog house with Constance, when she scolded him about not being totally honest with the man’s background. After she told him to leave, he had done so, with whatever few belongings he had been able to procure since her husband threw out his original possessions, and he made his way to the Garrison, presumably to find temporary accommodation. 

Marsac thought, how dare this boy, not even a Musketeer, judge him? What was Aramis even doing hanging around the boy, not even worth cleaning his old friend’s boots?

Marsac lately seemed to be intent on proving his detractors right by acting dishonorably, his horrible treatment of Constance being just one of the most recent examples.

However when he had a chance to cold-cock D’Artagnan from behind, using his sword pommel, when the boy wasn’t looking, he couldn’t find it in himself to feel bad about it.

Unfortunately, his companions witnessed it, so he walked away before they could stop him. Their pressing concern was seeing to D’Artagnan first, anyway, as the young man went down like a sack of potatoes.

They had to carry him upstairs. Once secured on a bed in one of the rooms, he began to awaken. As he did so, Constance arrived; she was there to reluctantly forgive the Gascon and tell him he could stay on with her and her husband. D’Artagnan, unfortunately, was still a little insensible due to the violent nature of Marsac’s blow to the back of his head.

“What- what happened?” D’Artagnan asked, confused.

“You were hit, D’Artagnan; how do you feel?” Aramis asked.

“How- was I- feel? How was I…how do _you_ feel?” 

Porthos and Athos frowned.

Aramis tried again, getting more specific so that perhaps the boy could focus on a specific answer. “D’Artagnan, do you feel nauseous?”

After a beat, D’Artagnan said, “A little…”

Porthos announced Constance’s presence. ‘D’Artagnan, Constance is here.”

“What? What about Constance?”

“She is-“ Athos began.

“Constance is- she is beautiful…she is beautiful and she smells nice and…well, C-Constance is the- she’s the- best woman in the- whole wide _world!”_ D’Artagnan’s high voice sounded like a pleased, albeit drunk, child.

All of them smiled, but Constance seemed rattled by the words.

Sensing that, Athos piped in and tried to change the topic of the confused boy’s ramblings. “Well, then, if you-“

“I- I love her! I’m in love with her. I- but- she is mad at me. I made her angry-again. I think she hates me...she kicked me out…“

“Alright then, pup, she’ll forgive you, I’m sure,” Porthos said quickly, and feeling sorry for the boy, he then leaned in and kissed him on the forehead.

D’Artagnan’s eyes opened at the contact. Then it was Aramis’ turn to do the same, giving him a quick peck on his dome, while he said, “Go rest, but I’ll be waking you intermittently to make sure you are alright.”

D’Artagnan asked, “Why is everyone- _kissing_ me?”

Porthos answered, “Because you’re adorable and we all love you and- right now you’re helpless to resist.”

They all smiled, and even Constance overcame her embarrassment to join in.

D’Artagnan, eyes closed again, seemed to be considering the words. Eventually he just uttered, “Oh!”

D’Artagnan soon came to his senses, and the consensus was not to reveal his confession of love to Constance. Oh, and yes, Constance had told the men, D’Artagnan can return to her home- all was forgiven.

Athos noticed Porthos, who looked as if he was about to burst out laughing.

When he shook his head, silently inquiring what the large man had found so funny, Porthos said, “I keep thinkin’ about D’Art- that mouth on him. What he said to Marsac-‘Apparently, neither are you’…” And the memory of it had Porthos laughing again. “I swear, every day I think, ‘what is that kid going to do or say today that’s gonna absolutely crack me up?’”

‘Heh’, Athos again laughed audibly, a miracle in itself. Yes, D’Artagnan was quite incorrigible.

Yet suddenly Athos sobered up enough to say, “That mouth of his is going to get him into more trouble if he doesn’t temper it.”

“Hey, Marsac had no right to do what he did to the boy,” Porthos quickly countered.

“I agree, but ‘the boy’ needs to remember he’s not in Lupiac anymore, where I’m sure it rarely was an issue running across men of questionable repute. He’s here in Paris, where speaking your mind as flippantly as he does can, and has, gotten him in trouble. He’s got to learn to put his head over his heart in all manner of things.”

  
As time went by, D’Artagnan would witness Porthos being accused of murder, the return of King Louis’ mother, and the attempted execution of Ninon de Larroque. As it began to feel easier for Porthos, Aramis, and Athos to have D’Artagnan beside them, unfortunately their comfort in D’Artagnan always doing or saying the right thing would be humorously tested one day when Treville, explaining the plans for an upcoming mission that D’Artagnan may not even be a part of, occurred.

Around ten Musketeers, among them the three Inseparables, were standing at attention with D’Artagnan, when Treville was explaining his strategy for weeding out some suspected Spanish spies from a neighboring village. Since there was a suspicion that the spies may have the support of an unknown amount of Spanish reinforcements, the assigned Musketeers were to be as stealth-like as possible in their approach. Treville outlined the route to be taken.

D’Artagnan’s mind was racing, as it was close to the location of an earlier mission he attended with Porthos, Athos and Aramis.

In front of everyone, D’Artagnan interrupted Treville mid-sentence and said, “Excuse me, Captain, but are you sure that’s not a bad idea? If the Musketeers took the back road, they would take longer but with less visibility, it would reduce the possibility of an ambush by Spanish spies.”

Around the time that D’Artagnan got to the part about it being a ‘bad idea’, Athos’ eyes shot open wide. Porthos snickered, and Aramis was battling an uncontrollable smirk.

Treville, who had come to see D’Artagnan as Athos’ main responsibility, gave his senior Lieutenant a withering look.

All Treville said was, “Dismissed.” He then walked away, and the group began disbanding.

Athos confronted D’Artagnan. “Did you just see that look at the Captain just shot me?”

D’Artagnan replied, ”How could I miss it? What did you do wrong?”

Now both Aramis and Porthos were howling.

Athos wanted to be angry at the boy, he really did; but D’Artagnan’s question was asked with such genuine innocence that he found he could not muster the proper indignation. In fact, he found himself on the verge of a chuckle himself. However, the boy must be taught a lesson. 

He therefore grabbed D’Artagnan, who was clearly not getting it, and shoved him backwards. He then proceeded to lecture the boy, feigning an anger he did not feel.

“What did I do wrong? What did _I_ do wrong? I’ll _tell_ you what I did wrong- several weeks ago, when Treville asked me to give him an appraisal of how you were faring, I told him that I thought you were a promising recruit, and may actually make a fine Musketeer one day! Do you know what he took that to mean? That you would keep your mouth shut, _not_ question his decisions, and NOT undermine his authority in front of the other Musketeers!! It creates doubt and confusion! Do you understand??”

Suddenly, D’Artagnan’s countenance displayed the comprehension that Athos was waiting for. He suddenly had a contrite look on his face.

“Lightning mouth,” D’Artagnan suddenly said, looking down.

Athos just shook his head.

“It was my mother and father’s nickname for me. They said I always quickly opened my mouth before I thought of what it was I was saying.”

“Looks like not much has changed,” Porthos couldn’t help but add, still laughing.

“One day when I was about six, our neighbor Madame Marie was visiting. My mother had made some biscuits and Madame Marie had already partaken of one. She announced that she loved the biscuit and absolutely must have another.

“I said, ‘perhaps you shouldn’t, because my mother thinks you’re getting fat.’ After that, Madame Marie didn’t come over so often.”

Athos, despite himself, was now smiling as well as his brothers. “It has been my experience that you need to be shown a sword move just once before you master it. Perhaps your tongue can also be taught some temperance and we will not have a recurrence of an incident such as this.”

“Yes, of course! But- I also believe I owe the Captain an apology.”

“Oh, to be certain,” Athos replied, amused.

As it was, Treville was calling Athos up to his office at that very moment.

Athos wasted no time in assuring that Treville would not see a repeat performance from D’Artagnan, and that an apology was imminent.

“Good. Athos, D’Artagnan’s assessment of the route has merit. I believe we will be adopting it for the mission. Ask him which back road he was making reference to. While his delivery may have been rather, shall we say, inelegant, it nevertheless demonstrated tactical and strategic thinking. I want him present whenever we have strategy sessions for future missions. That is all.”

“Captain,” Athos said, walking away, pride filling his bosom.


	16. Chapter 16

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> In which D'Artagnan botches up another solo mission- or does he?

It was approximately two AM in the morning when a loud burst of rapping began to erupt on the Bonacieux residence.

Jacques woke up with a start, got to the door, and when he opened it up, he was greeted by four Red Guards.

“Does Charles D’Artagnan reside here, Monsieur?” One of them asked.

“Yes, he is upstairs,” Jacques responded, but as he did, D’Artagnan was already descending the stairs, all dressed, and seemingly not at all surprised at the intrusion.

“Are you Charles D’Artagnan?” The same Red Guard asked him. 

“Yes,” he responded. At this point Constance had made herself presentable and also came down to see what the ruckus was all about.

“Charles D’Artagnan, you are hereby accused of assaulting a member of the Royal Family, and are now under arrest. You are to come with us.” 

D’Artagnan’s face showed no surprise, and his grim smirk angered Constance somehow; what the hell had he done now?? As he had described it the other day, he was to perform a simple mission. How did he manage to foul it up now?

She said, “Now just hold on a moment-“, but D’Artagnan stopped her.

“Constance, it’s fine; I’ll go along with them. I want to cause no trouble.”

”You’re damned _right_ you’ll go with them! This is the last straw, young man! I always knew you were trouble!” Jacques spat.

And just like that, D’Artagnan was hauled off to jail, with Constance standing there in shock. 

  
_Approximately Forty-Eight Hours Earlier:_

Treville announced to D’Artagnan, with the three Inseparables present, that he had a solo mission for him that he believed would pass the approval of even Athos, as the possibility of the boy getting in trouble was almost non-existent. Treville was still mindful of the falling out he and Athos had almost had over the Vadim affair.

Treville began, “Baron Victor is planning a visit to the Palace, to attend a Royal Ball there, and he needs an escort. I believe this to be a task that D’Artagnan can handle for us. He is already in Paris visiting some relatives, but D’Artagnan can be his escort from his relatives’ estate to the Palace tomorrow evening. D’Artagnan, I believe it would be a good experience to get some exposure to the Royal family. I’m sure you will do us proud.”

“Of course, Captain,” D’Artagnan replied.

When even Athos had no objection, Treville said, “The logistics and details will be made known to you shortly. Dismissed.”

Left unsaid was that Treville was also thinking of the expanding the boy’s exposure to more of the wealthier of the Royals, since said exposure could only increase the chances of him ultimately obtaining the commission necessary to secure a place with the Musketeers. Making a good impression might pave the way for a reputation that would spread and increase amongst the Palace. And there were fewer richer than Baron Victor; in truth, King Louis relied on the monies he provided, for many of the fundamental goods and services used throughout Paris and beyond. Treville was a good man; D’artagnan had been impressing him and he owed it to him to set in motion any opportunity to further the young man’s standing amongst the Musketeers. 

Descending the Garrison stairs, Aramis noticed an amused look on Porthos’ face.

“What is it, mon ami?”

“I see a bet looming.”

“What do you mean?” Athos asked. D‘Artagnan was also curious as to what Porthos meant. 

“Do you really think that D’Artagnan will get through this mission without getting into just a _little_ trouble?”

While this brought a smile to both D’Artagnan and Aramis’ faces, Athos simply smirked.

“I see no reason to jinx the boy before he even begins,” was all Athos said. 

  
Unbeknownst to the Musketeers, including Treville, was that at the same time, the Baron had communicated with the Cardinal to employ a few of his Red Guard to accompany him through the town where his relatives resided, for one purpose: to procure a female companion to the Palace Ball he was to attend the next night, the same event that D’Artagnan was tasked with escorting the Baron to. 

The Baron was a recent bachelor again and one of the worst kept secrets in the Palace was that he was, well, a wretch of a man with a ferocious sexual appetite; even while married, he would use his title to get the Red Guard to obtain women for him. More than once, accusations of sexual assault were quickly and quietly dealt with, typically involving generous payments to the victims’ families.

The Baron had set his sights on a young girl of about sixteen years of age, seen on the streets. The Red Guard were then tasked with obtaining the consent of the girl’s parents, who once were told that the girl would attend the Palace, and meet the King and Queen, were immediately amenable to the arrangement.

It was the Cardinal who filled Treville in on D’Artagnan’s duties; tomorrow he was to stop by the home of the young girl, then collect the Baron from his relatives’ estate in one of the Royal carriages, and together, accompany both of them to the Palace to the Ball.

They didn’t make it to the Palace on time.

Once both the Baron and the young girl, whose name was Marie, were secured in the carriage, D’Artagnan began to make his way to the Palace. No sooner had he begun the journey, he overheard the Baron say a few comments to the young girl about her appearance. 

At first seemingly innocent, they quickly began to take on a suggestive tone. And soon after that, the comments were accompanied by some groping.

Marie began to quietly protest, but it fell on deaf ears. The Baron said, “Oh, come, my dear, no doubt someone as delectable as yourself would deny someone of my stature a little taste?”

As it became evident that the Baron wasn’t taking the hint, D’Artagnan politely said, “My Lord, it seems as if the girl isn’t interested?” He attempted to sound as deferential as he possibly could.

His comment was met with vicious rancor. “How dare you? Your role is to drive the carriage, my good boy, nothing more.”

D’Artagnan sighed, now beginning to wonder if Porthos was going to prove prescient in his inability to perform this ‘task’ absent trouble.

It didn’t take long at all for the situation to deteriorate, what with the Baron now putting his hands all over the poor young girl, causing her to whimper and cry out.

“My Lord, I must insist that you leave the girl be.”

The Baron yelled, “Stop the carriage. NOW.”

D’Artagnan did as he was told. The moment he did, the Baron leaped out, and was in his face.

“You forget your place, _boy,”_ the Baron spat, pushing D’Artagnan back as he spoke. 

As D’Artagnan stepped back, he said, “I’m merely pointing out that the young lady would prefer it if you didn’t-“

“I NEED NO POINTING OUT FROM YOU!”, the Baron yelled. He then threw a punch at D’Artagnan.

D’Artagnan easily blocked the blow; Baron Victor then countered with another strike attempt.

D’Artagnan threw a counter-punch, and it landed squarely on the Baron’s nose. D’Artagnan knew as soon as it landed that he had broken it.

 _“Ahhh!!!”,_ the Baron screamed in pain. There suddenly was blood everywhere. Marie was screaming in terror over the entire affair, frightened to death.

“You- you _bastard-_ you broke my _nose!”_ the Baron yelped.

“I thought as much,” D’Artagnan admitted, shaking his now sore hand. “My Lord, if you’ll permit me, if you place your head back a bit, the bleeding will-“

“I don’t need your help! You are to escort me to the Palace at once where I am to be treated! You, then, my good fellow, are _done,_ do you hear me? DONE!”

D’Artagnan then did as he was told; realizing that the poor girl wouldn’t wish to sit anywhere near the Baron, he had the presence of mind to allow her to ride in front of him on his horse while the injured Baron sat, fuming and bleeding, by himself, in the carriage on the way to the Palace.

 _Well, at least his attention was taken away from the girl,_ D’Artagnan thought.

  
After he escaped from the Palace (luckily the Baron was too immersed in getting treatment that he seemed to forget, for the moment at least, in delving out any further wrath on him), he then escorted the poor Marie home. As the girl was still distraught, D’Artagnan tried to explain the events of the evening to her parents without divulging too many specifics; that will be for Marie to decide what she wished to share with them.

He finally arrived back at the Bonacieux residence. Since it was still relatively early, both Jacques and Constance were both up. But since the extent of D’Artagnan’s mission was, as far as they were aware, to merely escort the Baron to the Palace, they didn’t question it.

“All went well?” Constance asked.

“More or less,” D’Artagnan replied, not really sure how much of the debacle he should be sharing yet, or to what extent he would be in trouble.

He got his answer, when just a few hours later, in the middle of the night, there was a violent pounding on the Bonacieux’s front door.


	17. Chapter 17

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> In which Athos washes his hands of D'Artagnan, and new information surfaces about the incident with the Baron, with help from an unlikely source.

The next morning, the Three Musketeers had only several moments together in the Garrison to posit on how the boy fared on his mission when Treville summoned them upstairs.

Once they were all assembled, Treville came right out with it.

“D’Artagnan’s been arrested. He- assaulted the Baron on his mission last night.”

Porthos proceeded to act as if it was the funniest thing he had ever heard. Aramis, for his part, seemed a bit amused himself.

“Assaulted?” Athos asked.

“Broke his nose,” Treville responded.

Porthos was now howling with laughter; it was so infectious that Aramis also couldn’t help himself.

But Athos was taking his cue from Treville, who looked grim.

“This is serious,” Athos said, prompting his Captain.

“You all know that depending upon the circumstances, assaulting any member of the Royal Family, including the extended family, can carry serious consequences, including execution.”

That got Porthos’ and Aramis’ attention.

“My concern is the rapidity of the arrest. D’Artagnan was seized from the Bonacieux home a mere three or four hours after the incident itself; early this morning. This tells me the Palace is taking this very seriously.”

“Boy, when that kid courts trouble, he does it in a big way,” Porthos said.

Athos was nodding his head. “I’m done. I’m done. That boy, he- I’m just- done. He has learned nothing from his training. How many times have I told him, head over heart? And now he goes and does this.”

“Now hold on, mon ami- you know D’Artagnan. He is a smart young man. There can be a very good reason-“ Aramis began.

“There is no good reason! Even if the Baron deserved it- from what I hear, the man is an insufferable boor- D’Artagnan was entrusted to merely escort him from one place to another. He doesn’t get to judge him, and he certainly _doesn’t_ have the right to assault him! How often do we need to tell him he needs to keep his anger in check? His impulsive temper- I’m done- I’ve had it with that boy!” Athos stormed off.

“He’s just worried- he don’t mean it,” Porthos said to Aramis and Treville.

Treville informed the men that he was on his way to the Palace to gather more facts and see what could be done.

  
The meeting with the King and the Cardinal was a grim one.

“Captain, am I to understand that not only did your selected escort for the Baron assault him, he was not even a Musketeer?” The King asked.

“Correct, your Majesty; he is a Musketeer recruit named D’Artagnan, who up until now has proven himself time and again to be an extremely capable young man, having accompanied some of my finest Musketeers on other missions recently. And acquitted himself admirably.”

“And if the- manners shown on this simple mission are a reflection of what he has come to learn from these- Musketeers, I suspect other Royals may fear more accosting from your men in the future, Treville?” The Cardinal taunted.

Treville tried to ignore the Cardinal, addressing the King directly. “I’ve yet been able to obtain D’Artagnan’s retelling of the events of last evening, your Majesty. If I could only see him-“

The King raised his hand. “Baron Victor said the boy attacked him unprovoked, and he demands his immediate punishment. I told him it is up to me to determine what that punishment would be. Until then, the boy is to languish in the Bastille. You can see him, but it is there that he will remain. The Baron was so furious, he refused to remain a guest here, and has returned to his cousin’s estate until this is sorted and we complete the very important business that he journeyed to Paris for in the first place. That is all.”

Having been dismissed, Treville made his way to the Bastille. Richelieu followed him.

“I beg you refrain from any further snide comments, Cardinal; there are two sides to every story, and if you’ll permit me, I am going to speak to my man to find out his.”

“And once you do, you would do well to seek out the young woman residing at this address. It will bear out the young man’s story.” Richelieu held out a small parchment. 

It contained a local address with the names Jean and Charlotte Boyette, daughter Marie.

Treville glanced back up at the Cardinal. “I don’t understand-“ 

“Talk to your man, Treville. You may find it hard to believe, but there are a few things in this world more aggravating to me than the unbridled antics of your Musketeers.”

With that, the Cardinal walked away.

Upon the Captain’s arrival into the Bastille, he had barely been able to process the Cardinal’s weird behavior when he heard the distinctive laughter of the Red Guards. If they were taunting D’Artagnan, or giving him a hard time, well, there would be hell to pay.

What he came across surprised him, to say the least.

Yes, there were four or five Red Guard, and most were laughing, and there was D’Artagnan, not bound or chained, and from what he could tell, being fed well. He seemed to have a shy smile on his face.

One of the Guard said, “Wait, I need you to tell us all again- the moment you broke the Baron’s nose. How much blood was there? Did he cry like a little girl, that miserable pretender? Oh, this is too good…”

D’Artagnan said, “Well, it was like I told you he tried to punch me and…”

“I’ll bet it was a lousy punch, the ponce probably couldn’t hit the side of a barn!” Another one shouted.

Treville cleared his throat.

“D’Artagnan, are you well?” He asked. 

D’Artagnan stood, and the Red Guard gave the Captain some space. They all seemed very pleased with themselves, or, rather, it was becoming apparent, with D’Artagnan.

“Why, yes, Captain, I’ve been taken very good care of,” he offered, smiling at the Red Guards as he said it.

There was an uncomfortable silence, when finally Treville said to the Red Guard, “Gentlemen, I wonder if I could have a few minutes alone with my man.”

The Red Guard all complied.

Once the two were free to talk alone, Treville began to grill D’Artagnan into what actually had occurred the previous evening.

D’Artagnan appeared to be reluctant to divulge too many details. “I apologize, Captain; but the Baron said and did a few things I- took issue with.”

”Such as?”

D’Artagnan again hesitated. “Captain- um, is there any way that I could simply apologize personally to the Baron, and be done with it? While I understand that I am in no position to dictate terms on this matter- truly, it was me at fault, I assure you- in truth I would rather avoid details if at all possible.”

Treville was confused at the boy’s response. “The Cardinal says a girl was involved. He handed me this missive.” He handed it to D’Artagnan.

D’Artagnan looked at the names and smirked. Of course- he had filled in the Red Guards on what had occurred; he was simply being too naïve to not think his recitation of the event with the girl wouldn’t make it back to Richelieu.

“Captain,” D’Artagnan suddenly implored Treville, “Marie was terrified last night. She- she may be too afraid to recount the evening’s events to anyone. Can she be spared that humiliation?”

Treville sighed. “Unfortunately, son, the girl’s testimony of the events may allow us to obtain the proper footing we need against the Baron to get these charges against you dropped.”

“But if I simply were to take my punishment- perhaps it can be avoided?”

Unfortunately, the boy’s naiveté was manifesting itself- in a fair and just world, perhaps; but with a Baron smelling blood, that ‘punishment’ could be severe indeed.

“Tell you what- let me see how amenable the girl is to talk. Then we’ll take it from there. Alright?”

“Alright; thank you Captain.” 

  
Once Treville returned to the Garrison, he reunited with the three Inseparables in his office.

“Did you see D’Artagnan?” Athos asked.

Treville smiled. “Yes, in fact, I did. That boy should enter politics.”

As the three looked confused at the seemingly random comment from their Captain, Treville proceeded to fill them all in on what had transpired, including the note. He instructed them to seek out the young woman immediately.

Prior to departing, Athos turned back to Treville.

“The Cardinal provided you with the information about the girl?’

The Captain, anticipating what was behind Athos’ question, replied, “The Baron is almost universally despised by everyone at the Palace- his low regard of the Cardinal is legendary. And the hatred goes both ways. Plus, as I have discovered, every time he visits, the Red Guard placed in his care apparently suffer the type of verbal abuse and derision not deserving of a rabid dog. It seems that D’Artagnan managed to do something that every Red Guard has dreamt of doing for years now. As for Richelieu, apparently he weighed which he hated more- the Baron, or the Musketeers. In this instance, luckily for us, the Baron won.” 


	18. Chapter 18

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> In which D'Artagnan's side of the story is confirmed, and things begin to look up for him, until they don't...?

Upon arriving at the residence of Jean and Charlotte Boyette, Athos, Aramis, and Porthos all encountered a distraught couple who seemed intent on protecting their young daughter from any further abuse, physical or otherwise. It prevailed upon the Inseparables, in particular Athos, to summon the proper decorum and carefully played reasoning to see if they could be persuaded otherwise.

“I cannot presume to comprehend the effects of such a terrible encounter as your young daughter must have endured, Madame and Monsieur, but please know that any recitation of the events as they transpired by your daughter would go far in exonerating the fine young man who assaulted the Baron, in defense of your daughter. We-“

“We trusted that the Baron, allegedly coming from such fine stock, could be trusted to act like a gentleman. Instead we find him behaving no better than a lewd, drunken lout! Forgive me, sir, but I am not inclined to do any favors for anyone- my daughter came home shaken by her being molested by that- pretender of a gentleman!”

Just then, Marie appeared at the door.

“Sweetheart, you need not expose yourself to this-“ Her mother, Charlotte, said softly.

Ignoring her mother, Marie asked Athos: “My escort-“

“D’Artagnan,” Athos said.

“D’Artagnan. Is he in trouble?”

“He has been jailed for striking the Baron,” Aramis quickly responded.

“He should be given a medal instead! That Baron- he should be strung up!“ Jean said.

“W-would my telling my side of the story help- D’Artagnan?” Marie asked.

“Yes, I believe it would. The King is a kind, merciful and honest man, and your word would carry a lot of weight, even against the Baron,” Athos offered.

Marie looked at both of her parents. “That young man- D’Artagnan- I told you last night that he prevented me from coming to harm. He saved me from that- that man. I would like to help him in any way that I can.”

Sensing the reticence on both parents’ faces, Aramis quickly added, “That would be greatly appreciated, and may I add that we give you and your parents our word of honor that no harm will come to you by you doing so. Please do not let the rogue, vile actions of one man- even if he is a man of means- prevent you from believing that we seek to not only help our good friend, but also prevent you from experiencing any further abuse. I swear it. We all do,” Aramis entreated the girl, looking swiftly at Porthos and Athos for confirmation. They both nodded. 

Aramis tacked on one of his most charming, reassuring smiles; and with that, they gained Marie Boyette as D’Artagnan’s advocate.

Marie’s parents had a codicil for their daughter’s testimony- it was to be done as privately as possible, to lessen the humiliation that was going to be unavoidable when Marie began her recounting of events. And, of course, they both needed to be present as well.

This was easily arranged; in fact, upon arrival to the Palace, the informal meeting occurred with the King, Queen (whose presence seemed to have provided a balm over the entire proceeding, as her words and gestures displayed nothing but sympathy and kindness towards all of the Boyettes), Cardinal, Treville, and the three Inseparables.

Jean Boyette has the presence of mind to ask if the Baron’s absence from the meeting, in truth a relief to the man since his daughter needn’t ever see him again as far as he was concerned, would ultimately be used against them, as he would almost certainly refute his daughter’s version of the evening’s events?

The Cardinal said, “Since there is no attempt at any monetary recompense here, I believe the King would agree with me that your daughter’s testimony is beyond reproach. In other words, she has no basis for lying. Would you agree, your Majesty?”

King Louis nodded. “Indeed, Cardinal. And while I do not condone the Baron’s actions, nor can I even guarantee he realize a punishment suitable to his despicable behavior, please know that this will definitely factor into your young protector’s fate.”

Queen Anne sensed that this was far from sufficient. This brave young girl and her family had risked much to come to the Palace, so soon after their daughter had suffered such a traumatic experience. 

“Perhaps, your Majesty, there is something more to be done? As the Cardinal has pointed out, the Boyette girl has offered her testimony to the terrible events of the other evening, expecting no recompense other than it serve to exonerate D’Artagnan from a harsh sentence. But it is our duty as King and Queen, is it not, to take responsibility for the treatment of our subjects, especially when they come to harm under the hands of one of our own?”

King Louis seemed to be considering his wife’s words. “Huh. Of course, my wise wife as usual has provided the proper context based on these recent events. Cardinal, what do you suggest?”

Richelieu responded: “A formal apology from the Palace is warranted, I believe, your Majesty, for as the wise Queen has conveyed, even though the actions are not our own, the Baron by extension is a representation of the Royal family.”

“Then an apology it is, to the three of you;” the King addressed the Boyettes. “What else, Cardinal?” the King asked. 

“Well, as an actual disbursement of monies may be seen to be a bit-crass” (and, of course, to the Cardinal’s keen political mind, potentially seen as a pay-off), “may I ask, monsieur, what line of business do you partake in?” 

Jean Boyette replied, “I am a butcher, your Eminence.”

The Cardinal offered, “Then we will seek to have the Palace patronize your shop in the very near future, and if we so find it sufficient, we may employ your services from now on.” He threw one of his infamously mirthless, fake smiles. 

Jean brightened up after that. “That would be- wonderful.”

As usual, the Cardinal deftly placated the Boyettes, while avoiding the impropriety that a cash payoff might have incited, especially if the Baron got wind of it.

  
After the Boyettes were escorted out by the Inseparables, Treville, the Cardinal, and the King and Queen were left alone to discuss next steps.

“You do realize, your Majesty, that this only assists in getting Baron Victor to back down somewhat in his ruthless pursuance of D’Artagnan and his wish for a strict punishment. Regardless of his behavior, the Baron must be placated. And France is relying too much on what the contents of his coffers can purchase for us.”

Louis smirked at the truth of Richelieu’s words. “Yes, we do need to tread carefully as not to risk having the Baron reconsider his generosity to the Crown. I am of a mind to tell him that based on the girl’s testimony of what really did occur, that death or a life sentence for the boy is now off the table.”

Treville let out a breath at that.

Richelieu said, “Once that is understood, I believe allowing the good Baron to formulate his own punishment would go a long way towards ameliorating the issue somewhat. If he’s made to feel it is his decision, I believe that might help.” 

“Quite right again, Cardinal; and Treville, a word of warning-I plan on consenting to whatever the Baron may choose as the young man’s punishment. He is not even a Musketeer, after all, and I need not remind you of how I will refuse to beg the Baron for access to some of his funds. Agreement to his terms will go a long way to his willingness to part with the monies I have every intention of accessing.” 

With execution and a life sentence no longer looming for D’Artagnan, Treville was relieved, but now that relief was short-lived; for what possible punishment might still spring forth from the despicable mind of Baron Victor?

Unfortunately for D’Artagnan, they didn’t have to wait long.


	19. Chapter 19

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> In which D'Artagnan's punishment is dispensed, and Athos has an epiphany.

News of what had transpired had Athos, Porthos and Aramis crestfallen- while D’Artagnan was to be spared paying the ultimate price, it seemed as if the Baron was to get away with his own trademark sick behavior yet again- the family was to be paid off, so to speak, by having their livelihood patronized by the Palace. The family, probably mindful enough of how the world works for people of their station, accepted it, as did the countless past victims of the Baron’s indiscretions. It was sickening.

Now, they were all in the Palace, in front of the King, the Queen, the Cardinal, the three Inseparables, and D’Artagnan.

Baron Victor had been furious- furious- when the Cardinal and the King had related to him how the testimony of the young girl had ratified D’Artagnan’s version of the events of the other night. Yet Richelieu had been able to press, based on the Baron’s reaction, that it was true, and impressed upon the Baron why it would be prudent not to press the matter further. Leaving alone the actual events of the evening- Baron Victor’s attack upon a young woman- was in the Baron’s best interest, to be certain.

Yet it was a very subtle and tenuous rope they walked with the Baron. Were he to leave the Palace without something, some sort of recompense for being attacked, then his recourse would be to deny France access to his considerable funds. And since there was no argument that D’Artagnan struck the Baron, regardless of the cause, he demanded satisfaction.

Of course, the King could press the issue, demanding the funds, but in a choice between keeping the peace between him and the Baron, and sacrificing D’Artagnan in order to do so, D’Artagnan was the loser in that choice.

He had been given the time to pass his sentence on D’Artagnan, and they were all present because he had rendered his decision. 

“For attacking me the other night, I am ready to impart this young man’s punishment,” the Baron announced.

Athos, Porthos, Aramis, and in particular D’Artagnan held their collective breaths. 

“It is my understanding that Charles D’Artagnan is in training to be a Musketeer.”

All eyes were on the Baron. Suddenly, D’Artagnan felt his throat constricting.

The Baron continued: “It is my ruling that D’Artagnan never to become a Musketeer. His training is to cease immediately.”

**“NO!** Please! Your Majesty!” D’Artagnan screamed out. “Please! Anything but that! I _beg_ you! I-“

“D’Artagnan, **SILENCE!”,** Athos yelled. The entire palace almost jumped at the loud, forceful pronouncement.

D’Artagnan immediately ceased speaking. Which was just as well, because his gasps had him struggling for breath.

The smug, satisfied look on the Baron’s face sickened almost everyone in the room. “Pathetic,” he smirked.

In truth, the entire room was startled at the depth of feeling that had come out of D’Artagnan. The King, especially, was shocked at the passion of the boy’s response in not being able to join the ranks of his very own Musketeers.

Regardless, needs must as relates to monetary needs of the Palace and France. 

“So be it,” the King said. “D’Artagnan is to be barred from ever obtaining a Musketeer’s commission. The issue is settled.”

Porthos, Aramis, and Athos quickly huddled near D’Artagnan, who was shaking, clearly in shock. 

The King then dismissed them all, asking for Treville to stay behind. 

  
Their return to the Garrison was a grim, silent affair. Whenever any of the three Inseparables managed to glance over at their youngest member, all they saw was a totally defeated, devastated young Gascon.

Once they crossed the Garrison threshold, no one could think of anything to say to console D’Artagnan. Reminding him that coming out of this entire affair alive or not incarcerated rang hollow, as D’Artagnan was too distraught to consider reason; also, in their hearts, the punishment doled out to the boy was worse than incarceration, perhaps even giving his life, because this- this _was_ his life.

Out of D’Artagnan’s earshot, Athos fumed. “So for purposes of political expediency, D’Artagnan is to be thrown to the wolves. And all for doing the right thing, on top of everything else.”

Aramis admitted, “For once I am at a loss. We have to find a way out of this.”

Porthos was furious, but quickly punched Aramis on the arm, as D’Artagnan approached.

D’Artagnan’s dejected countenance and slumped set of his posture broke their hearts.

After a few moments of uncomfortable silence, Porthos said, “We’ll- we’ll find some other job for you at the Garrison. Running errands, or- something-“

“What, like the local vagrant that everyone feels sorry for? Like some pathetic invalid to be pitied? And how am I to feed myself? Where am I to live? I have no money. And besides, I could never- they already laugh at me…”

”What? Who laughs at you?”

“N-never mind…”

Athos pressed it. He was astonished at the boy’s pronouncement.

“D’Artagnan, who laughs at you?”

D’Artagnan threw his hands up, as if to say, don’t press this.

Finally he said, “Other Musketeers. Others in the Garrison. I hear them- they say things, sometimes to my face…”

”Who? What do they say?” Athos immediately insisted.

“They call me…lapdog, lackey, naïve, stupid, gullible…”

“ _Who,_ D’Artagnan?” Athos pressed.

“Besides you? I’m not telling,” D’Artagnan said, in a manner that said, _are you kidding me? Not happening._

His words hit home for Athos, as it was he who more than once had admonished the boy for being too naïve in certain matters. In trying to teach him on the ways of Paris, some of which were seedy and ugly, he had criticized D’Artagnan’s ignorance on not picking up on some of the queues that would protect him from being duped, or exploited.

“D’artagnan- I have been meaning to apologize for that…” Athos offered meekly.

“Well, you haven’t,” D’Artagnan replied curtly. 

_Flashback, one week earlier:_

In what could only be a great stoke of luck, D’Artagnan finally won a hand at cards at the local tavern; and it was a decent sum of money at that. His three older brothers were happily there to witness it (it was their money he had won, after all).

Once he realized he had won, D’Artagnan, grinning widely, got so excited that in reaching for his winnings, he clumsily hit the table and almost dumped all of it’s contents onto the floor.

“Take it easy, calm down,” Aramis said to the boy, with a fond smile on his face, while glancing at Porthos and Athos, who were both sporting smiles of their own, clearly enjoying the boy’s delight at his first winning hand.

Later that evening, each of them began leaving the tavern at different times; Athos, who had stayed behind later than the others, began overhearing some voices that sounded familiar. They were jocular and loud.

“Can you believe he fell for it? It was like taking candy from a baby!”, one voice bellowed.

“I mean, how gullible- stupid, I should say- can one be?”

“Well, I suppose if you’re from Gascony, it’s to be expected!”

“I must say however, my performance was impeccable, wouldn’t you say?”

“Oh, to be certain! My word- a sick wife?! I didn’t know you had it in you!”

Athos, by this time, had put things together. He also recognized the voices of fellow Musketeers Don and Edmund. He severely disliked both.

“Gentlemen,” He announced himself.

Don and Edmund’s mouths both fell open.

  
The next morning, Athos confronted D’Artagnan.

“What will you do with your winnings?” He asked innocently.

“Well, in truth, I kept just enough to pay some of my back rent. The rest I gave to Edmund. It seems he really needs it more than myself.” 

Porthos’ and Aramis’ eyebrows shot up at that. They knew Edmund well. They shared Athos’ low opinion of him.

Even so, they were shocked at Athos’ response. He rushed to D’Artagnan, and grabbed him by the collar. 

“You fool! Edmund isn’t worth anything, much less your pity! Imbecile!”

D’Artagnan, collecting himself after initially being startled by Athos’ reaction, quickly gave it back to the older man. He violently wrestled himself out of Athos’ grip, and shouted “ _You_ are the fool! You don’t know what you’re talking about! Last night as I was leaving the tavern, he told me he has a very sick wife who needs medicine and care to be taken care of! So I gave the rest of my winnings to him. _You’re_ the imbecile! Not me!”

Porthos quickly interjected, “Hey, now, watch what you’re saying-“

But D’Artagnan was inconsolable, and hot. “No! He always calls me naïve and stupid! I bet he didn’t even know about-“

Athos shot back, “He _has_ no wife, let alone one that is ill! He played you and you didn’t even question it!”

D’Artagnan was startled by Athos’ words.

“What are you talking about? He told me-“

“Oh, he _told_ you! Then it _must_ be true! He made you out to be a stupid fool, and you actually took money out of your pockets and just handed it over! How can you be so gullible?!? _Imbecile!”_

Aramis then walked forward. “Athos, _enough._ ”

“I-I- why would he…”

Athos then dug D’Artagnan’s retrieved winnings out of his own pocket, and threw it to the ground.

“There’s your money back. I called you a gullible fool because that’s exactly what you are. It’s almost as though you enjoy being made an idiot of. And you’re welcome.”

Porthos, wanting to avoid D’Artagnan the indignity of reaching down for his own recouped money, did so on his behalf. “Here you go, boy,” he whispered as he shoved it in the Gascon’s shaking hands.

“It’s time you grew up, D’Artagnan,” Athos offered, walking away as he did so.

“How- I didn’t…” D’Artagnan cried, humiliated. He sauntered off, shoulders drooping.

Once D’Artagnan was away, Porthos, deciding he had it with Athos, grabbed his brother and shoved him by the shoulder. Athos looked at him in surprise.

_“’Imbecile’?_ Where do ya get off? Seriously, what is wrong wit’ you? WHY- how can you be so mean to that boy? I know ya don’t think he’s stupid or anythin’ like that. But I’ll tell ya one thing, Athos- I’m not letting ya talk to ‘im that way anymore. I swear, I’ll-“

“My father. I’ve become my father.” Athos just blurted out.

During Porthos’ rant, he had begun seriously musing on why, yes, why he had seemed so short with D’Artagnan so many times.

“My father’s method of parenting and- teaching, involved more yelling and berating than- positive reinforcement,” he went on to explain. “Monsieur Adrien de Sillegue was a proud, insecure man who always seemed to worry about his own standing amongst his peers, and God forbid his son would ever bring him any shame. So my upbringing was filled with- shouting and insults and life lessons determined to ensure that I would never be anyone’s fool. But it was always a lesson delivered with derision and scorn.

“It seems I know of no other manner in which to entreat the boy to wise up and stop being so naïve.”

Aramis said, “Putting aside the methods your father employed in raising you, Athos, the result is he raised one of the finest-“

“I hated it,” Athos interrupted. “If only once he told me that he- if only once he told me he was proud of me, or…” Only then did Athos look Porthos and Aramis in the face.

Aramis continued. “So take the essence of your father’s lesson- let’s make certain that D’Artagnan never is made a fool, by anyone- and let’s improve upon your father’s methods by combining it with love and by showing him we truly care about him. Otherwise, I fear Constance will have our hides.”

“Whooowww”, Porthos said, pretending to shudder at the prospect of Constance dispensing her wrath upon the three of them. 

_End of flashback._

Remembering the epiphany of his father’s teaching methods, Athos realized now that more than ever, D’Artagnan would need positive reinforcement from his three brothers in the trying days to come. But if he were never to be allowed to become a Musketeer, would it all be academic anyway? Wouldn’t any encouragement on their part ring hollow, as it would all come to naught regardless?


	20. Chapter 20

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> In which D'Artagnan learns his fate, and Athos apologizes.

Treville was still trying to absorb the conversation that he had just had with the King.

The discussion was prompted by two things: the King’s passionate disgust of the Baron and his chronic, notorious behavior; and his genuine astonishment at the recruit D’Artagnan’s response to being denied a Musketeer commission.

In short, what Louis told Treville was that once the Palace had secured the funds that Baron Victor had finally promised, that he would reconsider D’Artagnan’s chances of a commission. Amazed at the King’s generous offer, the Captain was still sharp enough to ask about the Baron- what if he got wind of it? The King has replied that the promised sum was voluminous enough for a while, and if necessary, he would state that the King’s word is final, and if the King had a change of heart with respect to the recruit’s disposition, it was not to be questioned by anyone, including the Baron. The last weapon in the Palace’s arsenal would be throwing back at the Baron his history of despicable behavior and sexual indiscretion, and that it was in his best interest to let sleeping dogs lie. For reasons the King need not explain to the Baron, he believes the testimony of the events as described by the Musketeer recruit, as well as young woman. 

But the toughest request of Treville was the condition that he attached to this arrangement- he was to tell no one of his eventual ‘change of heart’ until the funds were obtained from the Baron. This could be several weeks. Weeks to keep it from everyone, including (of course) D’Artagnan himself. 

If they boy’s reaction to being denied his chances at the commission was anything to go by, this would prove to be difficult indeed. 

  
To describe D’Artagnan as distraught during the next few weeks would be an understatement of the highest magnitude. Doing their best to downplay the outcome of his sentencing, the Garrison, led by Treville’s instruction, ensured that D’Artagnan be handed any tasks needed to be performed, more than anything to keep his mind and body occupied with- something. However all training that would presuppose his eventual commission as a Musketeer had to cease completely, to avoid any semblance of disregarding the Baron’s pronouncement, backed by the King, that D’Artagnan would never become a Musketeer.

To his credit, D’Artagnan never saw himself as a victim, never pitied his station in the outcome of the entire episode with the Baron; however, after many trips to the local taverns, God help anyone who crossed his path. As he tended to look for fights, regardless of whether or not he could win. 

This led to him arriving in the Garrison on some mornings sporting various cuts and bruises, another indication of an altercation that he probably begun, but did not necessarily win. While the Inseparables did their best to look out for the boy, it wasn’t possible to do so around the clock.

At the Bonacieux residence, Constance did what she could for D’Artagnan, feeling awful for the outcome of the affair with the Baron; and it had taken a battle of epic proportions to convince her husband to, once again, forgive and forget the young man’s digressions, and actually allow him to come back to the home as their boarder. In truth, once Jacques had heard of the Baron’s actions against the young girl, it didn’t take much for him to forgive D’Artagnan (even though he would never admit it out loud).

It was the longest three weeks of D’Artagnan’s life; but thanks to the thoughtful guidance of his new three brothers (and aided by the keen direction of Constance as well), the boy was fed in a manner that did not hearken of charity, and he was kept busy with duties relating to but not directly a part of any Musketeer missions.

Of course, since the King always preferred being the recipient of praise, it made sense that his announcement to Treville that the funds had been received from the Baron be done in person. Truthfully, Treville was of the mind that Louis would have forgotten all about the Gascon boy had it not been the fact that now, he could announce to Treville to let the boy continue his Musketeer training, allowing for Treville to rain his thanks and platitudes of gratitude all over the King, who predictably ate it all up.

Treville didn’t get too many opportunities like this one- delivering good news, rather than dispatching his Musketeers on a dangerous mission- so when he returned to the Garrison he called for D’Artagnan, as well as his three brothers.

When all four men were standing in front of him, he said, “D’Artagnan, your show of emotion in front of the King has made him reconsider his agreement with the Baron’s decision to ban you from the Musketeers. As of now, the King himself has rescinded that ruling. You’re now free to once again pursue a Musketeers commission.”

The look on D’Artagnan’s face was priceless. He almost couldn’t believe it, but Treville’s broad smile was so genuine that he couldn’t help but beam brightly himself.

Porthos and Aramis were shouting in glee, and Porthos had already engulfed the boy in a tight bear-hug. Aramis was next.

D’Artagnan figured this was as good as it was going to get, when Athos asked, “What about me?”

The boy seemed confused.

“Don’t I get a hug as well?” He asked, as if insulted.

Porthos and Aramis threw each other knowing glances. _Maybe he’s finally getting it,_ they both thought.

D’Artagnan paused, and then asked, “Oh. Um- from- from _me?_ ”

Porthos laughed out loud. D’artagnan looked positively confused, and yes, adorable again. 

“Yes, from you.” Athos confirmed, smiling.

D’Artagnan didn’t have to be asked twice. He threw himself into the arms of the man who had come to mean so much to him. He couldn’t have been happier than he was in that moment.

  
The four men were all sitting around the Garrison table, along with other Musketeers, all eating the lunch that Serge had provided. It was a delicious braise of chicken with mushrooms and garlic. They all seemed to be reveling in a return to normalcy, something the last few weeks had not been, to put it bluntly. 

Athos noticed that as D‘Artagnan was finishing eating, he began to do what had irked Athos for a while now, which was to painstakingly eat every morsel left on his plate, scraping at it even after there was seemingly nothing left to eat, and this time he couldn’t seem to keep silent about it.

“D’Artagnan, you don’t need to clean your plate quite so- comprehensively. You seem eager to almost lick it clean. If anyone at the Palace were to see you do that, it would not reflect well on you, or us. It’s uncouth.”

Porthos shook his head in disbelief. Some of the other Musketeers let out quiet chuckles. 

Typically, D’Artagnan would take any advice shared by Athos, and adopt it without question, and often he would even thank him for imparting his wisdom. 

This time, however, D’Artagnan looked stricken. He had turned beet red, and looked furious.

“I apologize if my behavior offends your- _Comte_ sensibilities.” He walked away from the table.

Once he was out of earshot, Porthos asked, “What the hell was that?”

“I don’t know- he seemed to take offense at-“ 

Porthos interrupted. “Not him. _You._ What the hell, Athos?” 

Athos replied, “I beg your pardon? I’m simply trying to teach him some manners as relates to eating in public. I find no fault in that. You’ve seen how he almost devours he plate itself?”

“Yes, I’ve seen how ‘e eats, Athos, and I recognize it. I recognize the eating habits of someone who has known hunger, probably more than once. 

“Before I came to the Garrison and learned otherwise, I did the same. Do you honestly think it’s only people from the Court who have not always had enough to eat in their lives? The boy’s a farmer’s son; is it so unfathomable to think there may have been a harvest or season where his father couldn’t put enough food on the table for ‘is family? Believe me, that boy knows what it is to go to bed hungry, I can tell.”

Athos took in his brother’s words. “I had not thought of that.”

Porthos cooled and said, “I know, my brother; sometimes you let your upbringing get in the way of seeing things behind things, if you know what I mean.”

“But I meant no offense.”

Aramis said, “Athos. You called him uncouth.”

Athos promptly replied, “I most certainly did not; I called his _actions_ uncouth, not himself. I was very mindful in how I used my words.”

“And you think that boy, who sees himself through your eyes, heard that distinction?” Aramis asked.

Athos sighed. He was trying to employ the positive reinforcement the three of them had recently discussed, when teaching the boy a lesson. But how was it that it was he, who managed to continue to hurt the boy, when it was himself that more than anyone, wanted to protect him from any types of harm, both physical and emotional?

  
Athos found the boy in the stables.

“I’ve never seen a horse eat hay in such a manner. It’s extremely uncouth.”

The joke fell as flat as a trodden-on worm.

“D’Artagnan, I wanted to apologize. You actually were quite accurate in your assessment of my blindness in relation to…such matters.”

D’Artagnan paused before saying, “It’s not what you said- it just…it just embarrassed me by you saying it in front of everyone. Now they’re laughing at me again! I’m the ‘uncouth’, stupid backwards farm boy who doesn’t even know how to properly feed himself!”

It astonished Athos that someone who came across as so confident, brash even, would be insecure enough to worry about such things. It reminded Athos of how young the boy truly was.

“I chose my words poorly. I beg your forgiveness. Please know that I spoke up simply to offer my guidance in teaching you something other than yielding a sword or shooting a Musket. I believe that I owe it to you to impart knowledge culled from my various life experiences, as older brothers are wont to do.” 

Athos would remember to thank Constance for that phrase, and also for impressing upon him and his brothers the importance of looking after the boy.

When D’Artagnan heard Athos refer to himself as his older brother, he couldn’t possibly know how quickly all was forgiven in the young Gascon’s heart.

D’Artagnan smiled and said, “Thank you for looking out for me.”

Athos, out of curiosity, then asked, “Did you ever go hungry? On your farm?”

D’Artagnan seemed to be seriously considering the question. Avoiding looking at Athos, he responded, “Occasionally. More often than…yes, it- did occur.”

Athos let it drop. But he certainly felt he needed to clear the air on another matter.

"D’Artagnan. In the past I have been short with you on more than one occasion whilst attempting to school you in various matters pertaining to, amongst other things, the seedier and less reputable aspects of Paris life, and its peoples. 

“I regret I am rather inexcusably late in offering you a heartfelt apology in how I have spoken to you on some of those occasions. It was never my intention to call you names, or in any way insult your intelligence. I-“

Athos felt himself growing uncharacteristically emotional as he spoke. He may not have realized it, but his depth of feeling was because three people were intrinsically involved in this conversation- the boy, himself, and his father. Deeply laced within the dialogue with his mentee was an unbidden confession of resentment and hatred for his father, accompanied by the profound regret for those very feelings, as it led to shame on his part, for allowing those thoughts to surface in the first place. Worst still was how he had unconsciously allowed his words to cause harm to the boy. 

Athos’ pause had D’Artagnan staring at his mentor. Athos again found his voice.

“Porthos, more than once, has pointed out to me that each of us understands with our own understanding, and we often fall back on what we know, regardless if what we know is correct, or proper. I would never presume to use my father, and the parenting rearing techniques he used on me and Thomas, as an excuse for my treatment on you, but I did you a disservice by exposing you to them, and for that I do apologize.”

D’Artagnan stood there, absorbing Athos’ words. Finally he spoke. “Your father was- hard on you?” D’Artagnan asked.

“He was a cold man who didn’t know how to properly demonstrate parental love or affection. He seemed more concerned that I would cause him embarrassment. He could be cruel, and that I have been cruel to you in turn is…unforgivable. From what you have told us about your father, and how much you miss him, it’s clear that he loved you dearly. Perhaps one day you can tell me what made him such a great father, and then I could honor his memory somehow by…”

Athos could not go on. He found himself fighting back tears. Tears of shame, regret, and guilt for the hurt he had caused the boy… 

“I would like that. But- I forgive you. I’m also sure that your father loved you very much. Has it ever occurred to you that maybe he also only understood with his understanding, based on _his_ father’s rearing? Perhaps he struggled with his own demonstration of love for you but given that he was also denied it from his own father, he found himself in the same bind that you have now become aware of? Not knowing how to convey his love for you, I mean.”

Athos thought of his grandfather. More distant than his father, even. Respected, yes; loved, well, harder to validate that one.

Leave it to D’Artagnan to assume positive intent. And also uncover a potential truth.

“Possibly. But, in any event, I thank you for your- generosity of spirit. Now let’s go.” 

“Do you need to lay down now? Are you winded?” D’Artagnan asked, seemingly very, very concerned.

“What do you mean?” Athos asked.

“Well, I suspect those might have been the most words you have ever strung together in your entire life, and I was simply wondering if due to your advanced age, you now are tired and need to lie down and take a rest, or something.” D’Artagnan was grinning widely.

“Cheeky.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> The Athos apology scene at the end was inspired, a little more than just indirectly, by DebbieF (thanks for suggesting this was overdue)!


	21. Chapter 21

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> In which Constance and D'Artagnan's future is shattered, and LeBarge destroys the boy's home.

The next day, D’Artagnan arrived at the Garrison earlier than usual. He had spent last night out on the streets. It was bad enough that a few days back, Monsieur Bonacieux told him in no uncertain terms that unless he came up with his now past-due rent by the end of the week, he need not return to his home. Luckily, his recent winnings had brought him current with his rent. However, the disastrous events of last night meant he needed to ask Treville if, provided he ran any extra errands the Captain may deem necessary to warrant it, could he temporarily stay in one of the extra Garrison rooms until more funds came from home? For some reason, he had received nothing in weeks.

He arrived early because this was embarrassing enough- not being able to pay his own way- but carrying his meager belongings would prompt questions from his brothers that he wished to avoid for now, if at all possible. He was hoping Treville would be amenable to the idea- if he wasn’t, unfortunately he had no Plan B.

Luckily, Treville had no problem, and smiled inwardly once D’Artagnan offered his services as part of his payment and gratitude. Treville knew this was a proud young man, so he was keen enough to seemingly agree that the extra ‘errands’ would be an essential component to his agreement of the arrangement. While he personally would have allowed D’Artagnan to stay on regardless, he didn’t want to make it appear that he was taking on a charity case.

But last night at the Bonacieux’ was calamitous, to say the least. It was bad enough that he had screwed things up with Constance. Last night, with Jacques out of the house, he had finally told her that he loved her (lucid this time, and to her face). They began to make love, at which point, he stopped them and asked if this was an honorable thing to do and asked if she’s sure if she wanted to continue. 

Constance, very hot and bothered at that point and wanting nothing more than to continue, suddenly misinterpreted his meaning as if to question if she was being dishonorable, being a married woman. In truth, it was a concept that had been bothering her as well recently, whenever she contemplated taking it a step further with D’Artagnan.

Now that he had broached the subject, those doubts bubbled to the surface for her, and she was suddenly very out of sorts. 

“Are you saying this is- that I am- _dishonorable?”_

“No, of course not; I just mean, since you’re married, if you’re certain…”

“Get out. You think I’m a loose, floozy….”

_“Constance!_ I could never! I-“

“GET OFF ME! GET OUT! **NOW!!!”**

Just then, Jacques walked in. “YOU HEARD MY WIFE!! GET OUT AND NEVER COME BACK! How dare you- you tried to _rape_ her..?!?!?”

D’Artagnan just stood there, frozen, shocked, his mouth agape-

“My dear, did he- did he-“

“N-no, Jacques, he hadn’t yet done anything…” Constance said, ashamed for what she allowed her husband to think D’Artagnan had just attempted.

“GET OUT! THIS ISN’T OVER!” Jacques yelled, as D’Artagnan pulled himself together, and grabbed his belongings, running out of the home, certainly, he thought, for the last time.

  
When the Inseparables caught up with D’Artagnan, it took no time at all to see he was out of sorts. When they queried him, all he could manage was a shaking ‘no’ of his head, and then he said ‘Constance and I…”

The three men looked at one another. 

“D’Artagnan, we cannot help you if you do not tell us what has occurred.” Aramis said.

“I told her that I loved her. We began- we began to-then her husband walked in and thought I was forcing myself on her.”

Three sets of eyes widened at the pronouncement.

“But surely Constance didn’t allow her husband to believe that you would-“ Athos began.

But the look D’Artagnan threw him gave him pause.

Suddenly Athos thought of the position that Madame Bonacieux was in. “Oh. I see.”

“The devil. How did you leave it with them?” Aramis asked.

“Jacques accused me of- he said-“ D’Artagnan could hardly continue. “I left, for the last time. Oh! I’ve made such a mess of things!”

  
Back at the Bonacieux residence, Jacques was so furious at D’Artagnan that he was threatening to challenge him to a duel, or have him thrown in jail, that Constance suddenly found her courage. She could not let any of these things befall the young man she had so fallen in love with.

She waited until her husband cooled a bit first. When she approached him, she had tears in her eyes.

“What’s wrong?” Jacques asked her.

“D’Artagnan- he wasn’t-forcing himself on me. I was- I wanted-he…” 

Realization hit Jacques. “You- have feelings for him.”

“Yes.”

“But you haven’t- you never-“

“No.”

“And you never will. It goes without saying that he will never darken this door again; you are forbidden from ever seeing him again. I will not let my wife disgrace my reputation with her- vulgar- infatuations.

“Get out of my sight.”

  
When a criminal called LeBarge was reported to have destroyed property and farmland, including the homes on such properties, in Lupiac in Gascony, word got around to Treville. After he had his Musketeers assist in getting LeBarge jailed, details regarding D’Artagnan’s farm and home, and it’s fate, made it to him as well.

Once Treville had informed D’Artagnan, the boy commented, “So that’s why I haven’t received any funds…”

Treville dismissed a crestfallen D’Artagnan.

  
When Treville saw the three Inseparables, he called them to his office. He proceeded to fill them in on LeBarge’s rampage of the land in the area of Lupiac in Gascony. He then paused and added, “You should know- D’Artagnan’s farm was one of the ones that was destroyed. I just informed him.”

The three of them all scowled at the news. Athos offered, “You cannot destroy a farm- not really. Eventually, the land can grow whatever it had grown before.”

Treville said, “True enough. However if the fields are burned, it will take time for anything to grow anything that can be eaten, or sold. For any farmer looking for a good harvest this season, or the next, they now have nothing. Plus, LeBarge and his men were pretty thorough in their destruction of any homes on any farms- they were all burned to the ground.”

Treville kept quiet about the boy’s pronouncement regarding his lack of funds; he figured the boy had been violated enough by LeBarge; he would not assume anything about how much he would wish to share about his financial situation to anyone, even these three men. However as he had seen how close they had become to one another, it would not take long for them to find out.

All he did offer was, “This probably is way up high on the list of worst days in D’Artagnan’s life, so he will need friends more than ever now. Watch over him. Look out for him.”

Treville’s order was a genuine command to look after the boy. It was also code for _make sure he doesn’t do anything stupid._


	22. Chapter 22

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> In which D'Artagnan tells the Inseparables where to shove it, and his relationship with Constance ends almost as soon as it begins.

D’Artagnan was wandering aimlessly throughout the Paris streets, numb at first. As the voracity of what had occurred to him and his old home began to gain traction in his mind, his feeling of numbness morphed into anger and despair. He found he could no longer walk, as if the weight of what had happened literally bore down on his overburdened shoulders. He found a wall, and simply collapsed down upon it. 

It was there that Constance noticed him.

She would not presume to think that his troubled countenance had anything to do with her- it was obvious that something had just happened. Something bad.

His tortured face removed any hesitation to approach- she was still so ashamed at how things went when her husband came upon them, but D’Artagnan looked as if he needed comfort, something that she could at least try to offer, provided he didn’t hate her for- never mind.

“D’Artagnan?” Constance held her breath- how will he react to seeing her?

He looked up.  
  
He didn’t say anything. Suddenly, he was crying inconsolably.

“Constance…”

She ran to him, kneeled down, and hugged him. He sobbed into her shoulder.

“What happened?”

In between gasps, he began to describe what had happened to his home, his farm. She had known enough of his money issues lately to put two and two together; he had no money now. Constance was unaware that he had temporary accommodation at the Garrison.

“I’m sorry, Constance; it’s just that- I’m alright now, truly. Thank you.”

Constance rose, and D’Artagnan slowly got back on his own two feet. “I’m the one that should be apologizing to you. I’m so sorry about what happened in our home. I should have set Jacques straight. Can you ever forgive me?”

“Of course. It wasn’t your fault.”

It suddenly was awkward between the two of them.

“Jacques is away again if you wanted to come over.”

D’Artagnan looked at her, confused as to what was being offered. He wiped away his drying tears.

Constance sensed his hesitation. “Where were you going just now?”

“Er, I- I don’t know. Nowhere…”

“Then come home with me and get your head on straight. Have you eaten?”

That was a no. So they went to her home.

There, after some food, they reiterated their love for another. And then they made love.

Unbeknownst to the two of them, as D’Artagnan left, his kiss on Constance’s mouth just prior to walking down the street was witnessed by Jacques, returning unexpectedly early from his business trip. As he had recently been called upon by the Cardinal himself to spy on the boy, he now knew what he must do.

  
The next day, the Inséparables had gone looking for the young Gascon. As they did so, Athos asked Aramis: “So, skeptical heathen to true believer, why has God seen fit to target D’Artagnan, of all people, for such misery? Truly, could his luck recently be any worse?”

Aramis smiled. “Ah. The eternal 'why do bad things happen to good people' question, hmmm?”

“And when you say ‘of all people’, you mean…?” Porthos asked.

Athos replied, “Why target a man that is devoted and loyal, and as good and morally just as D’Artagnan? What sense does it make? And please do not say that it is all a part of God’s plan that remains a mystery to us.”

Aramis said, “I can understand why you are confounded, Athos. When I was his age, I was getting myself into all types of trouble. However D’Artagnan spends most of his time with the three of us troublemakers, and always does so without complaint. And yes, his moral compass is as sound as anyone I’ve ever met.

“All I can say is, perhaps he is being tested, in order for his true self to manifest itself. Perhaps this is a defining moment in his life, and he is at a crossroads. All I can hope is that this crossroad soon can result in a Musketeer commission, as it is long overdue now.”

“I’d better,” Porthos said. “The longer that takes, the better the chances the boy’s apt to do somethin’ stupid, like ‘e started doin’ after the Baron prevented him from trainin’ to be a Musketeer. All that drinkin’, fightin’, actin’ crazy…the last thing we need is a return of _that_ D’Artagnan.”

Just then, they saw D’Artagnan wandering in to the Garrison. ‘Wandering’ was the perfect word- he looked lost, defeated, bereft. The Inseparables actually were taken aback a bit- they’d never seen him look like that before. Even after Baron Victor, the fire was still evident in D’Artagnan’s eyes. He was devastated, he made bad choices, but he hadn’t looked as if he’d given up.

But he wasn’t only ‘wandering’, he appeared to be staggering. Oh no, Aramis thought. _Is he drunk?_ It’s only the morning but as they had learned after the episode with Baron Victor, D’Artagnan was known to stay in the local taverns, and after they closed, he continued on, drowning his sorrows. 

When D’Artagnan finally saw his three brothers, he had to look away. For some reason, he felt shame. Again, he found himself in a situation where he was the object of pity. Even in his drunken state, he couldn’t bear to look at them. 

“D’Artagnan, how are you?” Aramis asked.

That benign question was apparently the wrong thing to say.

“None of your business,” D’Artagnan spat back.

_Oh, so it’s going to be like that,_ Aramis thought. _Well, at least if he can still hold on to his anger, then maybe he hasn’t completely given up yet. Unless it’s only a manifestation of the drink._

Athos said, “There is no need for rudeness, boy; we are merely concerned about you. We heard what occurred from Treville and-“

“And what? You’re providing comfort by reminding me that you’re Musketeers, and I am not? That I’ll never be, without a commission? That my home was destroyed, so I have nowhere else to go?”

_“This_ is your home now, pup! You belong here with us,” Porthos offered.

“As what? A mascot? I- just leave me alone. Unless you are hiding the funds necessary to provide me a commission to become a Musketeer behind your backs, you can do nothing for me.”

Aramis offered, as calmly as he could, “D’Artagnan, we only wish to help-“

“Shut up.”

Athos: “That was uncalled for. Now, calm down, D’Artagnan-“

“Calm down? Why? _Just go to hell_ and let me be!” 

“ENOUGH! We are trying to help, and you will cease to-“

D’Artagnan charged at Athos, cocking his right hand, intending to deliver a blow to his mentor’s head.

Athos merely punched D’Artagnan hard, in the stomach, as he sailed by. D’Artagnan let out a breathless gasp, and then went down, hard.

Athos went to extend his hand to the boy, who rebuffed it. 

“P-please- leave me alone. _Please,”_ he uttered.

His plea was so fervent, they felt they must comply. But Aramis leaned over him and said, “When you remember how much the three of us love you no matter what, please come calling.” His kind eyes met D’Artagnan’s, and the boy managed a heartbreaking nod. Aramis repeated the gesture of Athos, extending his hand, and reluctantly, D’Artagnan took it. He walked away from the three of them, dejected. 

As he did, Aramis glared at Athos. “Calm down? Really, Athos? You know the last thing you’re supposed to say to someone you wish to calm down? ‘Calm down’.”

“His shortness with us was unnecessary.”

“He is hot, drunk, and doesn’t mean it. Give him some time.”

“He is doing himself no favors in drowning himself and drink and alienating the only friends he has right now,” Athos proclaimed.

Porthos and Aramis looked at one another and smiled.

“You’re kiddin’, right?” Porthos asked.

“What?”

“Athos. This would be funny if it wasn’t so disturbing. That boy, who models himself after you, is now emulating your worst habits by thinking that drinking himself into a stupor is the answer to all of his problems. You should be the last of us, my dear brother, to pass judgment on a behavior that Porthos and I recognize only too well, coming from you.”

Athos just shook his head. _Damn you, Aramis, for being right once again._

  
It was Milady- that most unlikely of sources- who provided D’Artagnan with the necessary funds to enter what became known as The Challenge. After a heartfelt apology to the older brothers for his inebriated, inexcusable behavior, they made it known that all was forgiven. 

After D’Artagnan defeated LeBarge, and was granted a Musketeers commission from the King, his joy was tempered by two things: one, the fact that his father was not present at such a proud moment in his life. Two, Constance had suddenly had a change of heart, and put an end to what she described as a ‘childish flirtation’, almost as soon as it had started. In truth, he was devastated.

Sensing the Gascon’s mood over the next few days, Aramis pressed it and inquired as to what the matter was. When D’Artagnan mentioned it to the three of them, their first reaction was how it was so not sounding like Constance.

But D’Artagnan’s next pronouncement was equally surprising.

“I’m so ashamed! I- my father always said that love is selfless. And I was selfish.”

“How so?”, Aramis asked.

“For the brief time we were together, despite everything else that was going on in my life, when I thought of Constance, or was with her, I was happy. So of course, I just assumed that she was happy as well. I’m ashamed because it was she that needed to point to me out that I don’t deserve her. I can’t even provide for myself; how could I provide for her as well? 

“She’s the most amazing woman I’ve ever met. She deserves everything she could ever want! I ignored the fact that I had nothing to offer her because I was happy I had her! I was ready to disregard how inadequate I was…”

Aramis offered, “D’Artagnan, you do Constance a disservice if you think all she wants is for you to lavish her with expensive gifts, or…”

“I told her that I love her! She- she said that she didn’t love me…”, and D’Artagnan broke down.

None of his older brothers knew what to say to that. Porthos simply grabbed his shoulder, and pressed it gingerly.

None of them could have known how Jacques had threatened the boy’s life by dangling the Cardinal’s influence over Constance’s head.


	23. Chapter 23

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> In which Jacques can't help himself, and the end begins...

Now that Aramis and Athos had (with Treville, Porthos, and D’Artagnan’s eventual assistance) safely secured the Queen’s safety from assassins, things had calmed down a bit. 

A few days later, whilst the four Musketeers were at the Garrison, they were greeted by Jacques and Constance Bonacieux. 

_Not again; what could he possibly want,_ was the thought that instantly passed through all of their minds. All, perhaps for D’Artagnan, who was thrown by the presence of both. He hadn’t seen Jacques since their monumental misunderstanding being caught with Constance.

Any further rumination from any of them was interrupted by Jacques’ gay greeting. “Good day, gentlemen. I am here to inquire on Captain Treville if your regiment has any tailoring needs. As Cardinal Richelieu and I have discussed, he suggested it is I that the Garrison consider for any such needs in the future.”

Jacques, predictably, could not help but flaunt to these men the favor he was (in his own mind) enjoying with the Palace for his job. With D’Artagnan there as well, he also couldn’t resist rubbing his nose at Constance being at his side, and not his.

“My darling wife,” he said, planting an uncharacteristically affectionate kiss on her cheek as he said it, “and I plan on visiting the Palace together to possibly meet with the King and Queen themselves to see what it is that I can do for them as well. Right, darling?”

Constance had the good grace to have a confused look on her face, but she offered a weak smile that made her go along with this charade, but hopefully didn’t’ hurt D’Artagnan unwittingly.

D’Artagnan, for his part, attempted to appear as impartial as he could. But he started to feel as he did the last time Jacques showed up in the Garrison, his clear intention to humiliate him. He considered leaving again. 

Athos sensed the same, seeing the boy absentmindedly swaying back and forth with his hands shoved underneath his armpits, and while Jacques rambled on and on about his alleged importance to the Crown, Athos quietly whispered to D’Artagnan, “Don’t let him see your anger. That’s what he wants. Be gracious. That’s how you show him the type of man you are- be better than him.”

D’Artagnan swallowed. He would take his mentor’s advice.

Porthos pointed to the Garrison stairs. “Treville is in. Wouldn’t wanna keep you waitin’.” He was hardly hiding his derision.

“Wonderful. Come along, dear.” Jacques held her close as he practically dragged her to the stairs, emphasizing to all who saw: you’re mine.

Constance threw them a smile that served as both a goodbye as well as apology. Aramis smiled weakly and removed his hat as a goodbye.

Before they were both out of hearing range, D’Artagnan managed “It was nice to see you again,” with an assured smile. It was perfect; without saying ‘you two’, Jacques could stew over if the boy meant his wife. Plus, D’Artagnan smiling was not how Jacques intended to leave the Gascon. He could hardly contain his scowl of disapproval as he walked away. 

The Inseparables all turned their attention to their youngest. “You did good, kid,” Porthos offered right away.

“Yes, you did,” Athos added. 

D’Artagnan let out a breath, willing himself to calm down. He asked, “What is it about a man that makes him take pleasure in another’s misery?” 

Athos replied, “It is the behavior of a petty, insecure, insignificant man. Men like him seek to bring down other men who they feel threatened by, or smaller than.”

Aramis added, “And Jacques isn’t just threatened by your feeling for Constance. Your strength of character, your courage, all of what makes you who you are, intimidate him. So he seeks to bring you down in any way he can.”

D’Artagnan paused, then said, “That- behavior. It- it eludes me.”

All three smiled. “I know. It would for a man of your character. You shouldn’t give it a second thought,” Athos assured him.

  
The next day, D’Artagnan found himself walking to the Garrison after having run an errand for his fellow Musketeers. 

Walking towards him was Milady, all smiles.

“Such a delectable sight amongst the riff-raff that typically infest our streets,” she purred.

D’Artagnan stopped in his tracks. Seeing Milady made him uncomfortable, the main reason being that he hadn’t the money to pay her back for her ‘loan’ she provided so that he could fight in the Challenge. But that wasn’t the only reason. 

Ever since Constance had rejected him, he had felt…inadequate. Now here she was, flirting and sensuous and making him feel- wanted?

A weak “Hello” is all he could manage. He was suddenly feeling awkward, nervous. 

As any snake worthy of the name would do, Milady sensed his trepidation, and decided to strike, in the usual subtle manner in which she was so accustomed. She smelled blood, or was it…pheromones?

He needed a distraction from the feelings she was engendering inside. He simply said, “I still do not have the funds to pay you back…”

She smiled seductively, gazing deep into his eyes. “There are various ways to pay me back, of course,” caressing his cheek as she said it.

When D’Artagnan closed his eyes and remained frozen, Milady decided to go in for the kill. 

“Young lovers are the most- intriguing. I often remember our memorable evening together. So passionate, you were. So eager. Such…stamina.” She was whispering in his ear now. “How long did we do it? Do you remember, my young lover? I do. We can do it again, my pet. Would you like that? Would you like to pay your debt in my bed, like a common whore?”

It was a testament to Milady’s powers of seduction that D’Artagnan did not recoil in disgust, pushing her away in rightful indignation. Instead, he swooned. His eyes were closed, as if to shield himself from any further unwanted stimulation. At least until he could decide if it were truly unwanted. 

She kissed him on the cheek, purring “You have two choices- join the Red Guard and our debt will be paid. Or return to my bedchamber. Either will bring us even; I surely know which of the two would be the more…pleasurable.”

D’Artagnan was thankfully spared the need to respond, as Milady simply walked away, not expecting an answer- at least not just then. He collected himself, and faltered, and because he was so flustered, he needed to recall the correct route back to the Garrison.

He was also too hot and bothered by Milady’s ‘offer’ that he was completely unaware of Athos, who witnessed the entire rendezvous- his wife’s possessive, seductive manner, the kiss, which the boy accepted, D’Artagnan’s deferential, familiar response…

Familiar. They know each other. How? And…how well? Apparently, _very_ well.

His wife. Who, he was certain, was an agent for the Cardinal. And all of his nefarious doings. A spy. Probably an assassin. Who had killed his Thomas. 

Consorting with D’Artagnan.

Or (and was this worse?)- D’Artagnan consorting with his wife. When he thought about it _that_ way… 

There are moments when the viewing of a scene suddenly comes with such a clear comprehension of what you have just witnessed, that it knocks you off your feet. For Athos, this was such a moment. That sudden rush of understanding- and clarity of its implications- had Athos reeling. He was immediately hot under the collar- literally; he was flush. He felt an ominous tingling throughout his body, down to his fingertips. Seconds later, he felt sick of heart. Then he just felt sick. 

It was overwhelming him. He turned, just in time to vomit on the street. 


	24. Chapter 24

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> In which the Inseparables confront D'Artagnan...

Milady could never have known that her rendezvous with D’Artagnan would cause not one, but two Musketeers to stagger about, wandering insensibly trying to get to the Garrison; one young Gascon, driven to distraction in an erotic haze. Another, literally sick to his stomach at what he had witnessed transpire between his wife and mentee.

When Athos managed to cross the Garrison threshold, Porthos and Aramis noticed right away that things were amiss.

“What happened?”, Porthos asked.

Athos didn’t respond right away. Then he managed to blurt out “D’Artagnan…”

“What- what happened to D’Artagnan?”, Aramis asked quickly.

“I saw him- just now- he was- cavorting with my wife…”

“’E _what?”_ Porthos asked, after a quick glance at Aramis, to confirm he had heard what he just thought he did.

“She was- kissing him, holding him. And he didn’t resist. Rather, it was obvious he- they…” 

Athos felt his stomach rumble all over again, now that he was verbalizing what he had encountered.

“My wife. The woman who gave false testimony against Ninon de Larroque. The same woman working for the Cardinal. The- evil witch doing the Cardinal’s bidding, including but not limited to destroying the Musketeers.

“And- D’Artagnan is her lover.”

Aramis ran his fingers through his hair as he tried to process what it was that Athos was telling them, but more importantly, trying to get to the heart of what it truly was that was making his brother so upset.

“Athos. Can you please describe for us exactly what you witnessed? Because I find it hard to believe that D’Artagnan would deliberately betray-“

Athos shot him a withering glare. Aramis instantly regretted being the first person to use the word ‘betray’ when describing his new younger brother, but it was too late. It seemed to fuel Athos’ rage.

“He betrayed me. He is in a- relationship with my wife, and has refused to tell me. It was so obvious they are intimate, yet he claims to be still innocently pining for Constance. Oh, he is good…”

“Wait. You know the pup still loves Constance,” Porthos chimed in.

“While finding solace bedding my wife!”, Athos countered. “What else is he hiding from us? Does she have him spying on us? Is he- plotting against us, as she surely is?”

_“Enough!”_ , Porthos shouted. “You can’t believe that could ever be true. Don’t go down that road, Athos. Don’t make me choose between D’Artagnan and you, don’t you dare do it.”

“If what I say is true, are you saying that I would not have your support?” Athos asked.

“You’d have it in a heartbeat,” Porthos replied. “But it’d also kill me to have to turn my back on the pup, who I now love more ‘n anythin’.” 

“Gentlemen, we are getting very much ahead of ourselves,” Aramis said.

Ignoring Aramis, Athos said “I’ll confront him. He must confess to all of his lies.”

“You’ll do nothing of the sort.”

“She’s a siren, dangerous, capable of seducing anyone to do her bidding. And she’s recruited D’Artagnan into her fold. They must be stopped. _He_ must be stopped.”

“Stopped from what? Saving your life, more ‘n once? Fightin’ alongside us, fiercely brave an’ loyal? Always doin’ what’s right?” Porthos yelled back.

Aramis said, “Athos, everything you’ve ever offered about your wife points to her being the one who probably initiated- whatever is going on between her and D’Artagnan. What you just saw- was he kissing her, or was she kissing him?”

Athos stopped for a moment. “She was kissing him. But he did nothing to prevent it.”

‘But you just said she’s a seductress. Men find her hard to resist. Can you fault D’Artagnan to be the same?”

When Athos seemed to be considering Aramis’words, Aramis continued.

“When D’Artagnan arrives, I’ll mention that I happened to see him with this woman and innocently ask who she was. If he’s evasive in his response, then perhaps we have an issue. However if he is forthcoming in who she is to him, then we can work together to all figure out what to do next. Agreed?”

Athos’ anger had cooled at that, and he nodded yes.

Suddenly, all three men were extremely nervous about how the encounter would go. They were noticeably shaken by how D’Artagnan’s reaction might alter their relationship to their very core. And perhaps shatter them apart for good.

  
A few minutes later, D’Artagnan arrived at the Garrison.

Not trusting that Athos would be capable of holding his temper at what was to come, Aramis ordered him to sit at the Garrison table, within earshot of the rest of them, but far enough not to betray to the boy how torrid he felt.

D’Artagnan, for his part, looked as distracted and out of sorts as Athos had when he had arrived at the Garrison. Aramis decided to start there.

“Is everything alright, D’Artagnan?”

“I- I’m fine,” he said, not knowing how to begin to describe what he was feeling now, since he was confused about his feelings himself.

Aramis pressed on. “My apologies, but I happened to see you with- a woman just before. She was- obviously someone you know. Who is she?”

This was it. The three Inseparables held their collective breaths.

“The first day I arrived in Paris, remember I told you that I had met the most beautiful woman I’d have yet to have seen. It was at the Inn that I spent my first night. We- spent the night together.”

Aramis and Porthos both shot a stealthy glance at Athos, trying to determine if he was keeping his cool. So far, if D’Artagnan’s recounting of his tale of him and his wife was disturbing him, he kept it to himself.

“When I awoke the next morning, she was gone, but there was a bloody dagger sticking in her pillow. When I grabbed it and went to investigate, I found another guest- with whom I’d had a public misunderstanding with the day before- in his room in his tub, his throat slashed. The other inn guests saw me with the knife and…well, I made a prompt escape, to say the least. That’s when I ran into Constance.”

“This woman- tried to frame you for the guest’s murder.” Athos made it into a statement, not a question, as if to say _it figures._  
‘   
‘Yes. All I know is, I didn’t do it.”

Porthos asked, “So what did she want today? To apologize for trying to frame you?”

D’Artagnan replied, “No. The Inn wasn’t the last time I saw her.”

_Of course it wasn’t_ , the three of them moaned internally.

“In the alleyway, when I was with Vadim and was being chased by the Guards, she suddenly arrived. She slit the throat of one of them, and shot the other one. She said that I was at a crossroads and…I’m not sure why she helped me, but I had no time. I just took off.

“The last time was when she gave me the thirty livre to enter the Challenge.”

“So that is where you obtained the funds,” Aramis said.

“Yes. I had no other option- I told her that I would repay her. So when I saw her again today I said that I still could not repay it. She said I could repay my debt by either joining the Cardinal’s Red Guard, or…returning to her bedchamber.”

“You only slept with her the one time?” Porthos asked.

“Yes, the first evening I was in Paris,” D’Artagnan replied.

“What do you think she wants from you?” Athos asked suddenly.

“I just told you. However I cannot fathom how my joining the Red Guard benefits her, or anyone, for that matter.”

Athos stood up from the table. “D’Artagnan. This woman. Who you have been consorting with, and taking money from. She is the Cardinal’s personal spy and assassin. And she is also my wife.”

D’Artagnan looked at his mentor, not certain his words registered. 

“What?”

“Did the two of you have a lot of laughs making fools of us? Planning against the Musketeers? Or worse, looking the other way while her and the Cardinal plotted their deceit, their treachery, all so that you could continue to warm her bed?”

“Athos. He just told you it was just the one time-“ Aramis interrupted.

“It was not like that! It _isn’t_ like that! How could you even think that of me? I would _never_ deceive you!”

“And why haven’t you ever mentioned her before? Why did it take m- Aramis to see you two together for you to finally tell us about your relationship with this woman? What are you covering up? Or are you ashamed because of Constance?” 

Porthos jumped in front of Athos. “Now you just wait. That was uncalled for.”

D’Artagnan looked as if he had just been sucker-punched. 

He was finished defending himself. “If you think that little of me, if you think I am a pawn of this woman, and by extension, the Cardinal, then throw me in the Chatelet and let me rot.

“I slept with her- I slept with her before I ever even _met_ you! She never told me who her husband was. But if you do not trust me, then I will resign my commission and leave Paris immediately. I cannot work along side someone who does not trust me.” 

Just as D’Artagnan made to walk away, Athos recognized the look on the boy’s face- and when he had last seen it. It was right after Baron Victor banned him from the Musketeers. It was panic, then a tragically bereft, lost look. Brought on by being forbidden to be a Musketeer. Defending King and country, with honor. Which he has done without reservation. He now had the same sorrowful expression, brought on by Athos’ own distrust of him.

“D’Artagnan, wait. I’m sorry. I believe you. I had to be sure,” Athos said.

D’Artagnan turned around. He looked at Athos with a sad smile. “You had to be sure,” he repeated, his tone accusatory. He turned away again.

“D’Artagnan. Please. I’ve always been a bit- insensible when it comes to my wife. I don’t think clearly. My reactions towards anyone dealing with her are met with irrational anger. I…” Athos just shook his head. “To think I just doubted you now- you, of all people-I doubted our honor. My apologies.”

After dragging Athos out of his burning mansion and hearing about his tragic and complicated relationship with his wife, in truth D’Artagnan was in a better position than even Porthos and Aramis to understand just how volatile Athos’ relationship with Milady was, and as a result how unreasonable this new revelation about him and her might make him, at least initially.

“I- accept your apology.”

You could hear the audible breaths emanating from Porthos and Aramis.

“It seems I am always apologizing to you,” Athos offered. ‘Without provocation, you bring out the worst in me. I don’t deserve your forgiveness, but I accept it nevertheless.” Athos smiled.

“I just wish she would cease pursuing me. She needs to be stopped.” D’Artagnan mused on his own thought. “Perhaps we could take advantage of our mutual relationships to do just that.”

“Now you’re talkin’,” Porthos said. “What’d ya have in mind?” 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Fixed the chapter count, as there will now be one more chapter, and then a very brief Epilogue...


	25. Chapter 25

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> In which D'Artagnan is wronged, and it's his brothers to the rescue.

After dispatching Milady out of Paris, and Constance’s confession about not meaning what she had declared to D’Artagnan, only for Jacques to make an attempt on his own life, the two had to come to an understanding about their...relationship.

Running into each other at the Market one day, their approach to one another was tentative at best, but they both tried to make the best of it.

“That bracelet suits you,” D’Artagnan said of the item that Constance had been holding. He threw her one of those shy smiles that she recalled getting often when he had first moved in to their home.

Her face soured. “It’s ugly!” she pronounced.

His face fell. “Oh, I- it’s…you seemed to…” he stammered. 

“I had to see it to believe it! You’d really have to hate someone to gift them something like this!” But she was smiling.

“Oh, for your husband, then?” he smiled, joking, hoping she would take it in the playful manner he intended.

She just shook her head and smiled at him.

“Or perhaps a sharper knife? Maybe next time he wouldn’t botch the job!” His broad smile confirmed he was being mischievous, but not in an angry or mean way. 

Constance, despite herself, was hysterical. “Stop it! That’s not funny!”

He was on a roll; plus, he loved making her laugh. Her laugh was quite infectious. He then found some bandages for sale, picked them up, and then said “perhaps this across his mouth…”

“I’ll sew it over _yours_ if you don’t stop!”

After a few moments, the sober reality of their status with one another manifested itself.

D’Artagnan said, serious now: “If there is anything you ever need, I hope that you will think of me. I would hate for anything to have transpired between us to stop you from considering me a friend.”

Constance’s eyes were instantly welling up. She didn’t want to break down in front of him, so she said “Of course. And- you too. I- I must be going.” 

Perhaps they had some sort of future together, D’Artagnan thought as she walked away. But one step at a time.  


Now that Milady was out of their hair, as a result of a truly hair brained plan initiated by D’Artagnan and cultivated by the rest of them, perhaps Athos could get a decent night’s sleep.

On the night that he deliberately shot D’Artagnan in the side (setting aside the fact that he was supposed to shoot the boy in the arm), it hadn’t come as any surprise that he hadn’t been able to sleep- was he being tended to? Would his wife bring more harm to him, more than he himself had perpetrated on him that fateful night? Would D’Artagnan, as blatantly honest a man as he’d ever met, be able to pull off the deception requiring that he convince his conniving wife, not to mention the Cardinal, that he wished to join the Red Guard, and also kill his mentor?

Now that the answer to all of those questions proved to be yes, and the mission accomplished, Athos drifted in to a long overdue slumber. His pride and love of the boy made him vow that he would continue to protect him, and now that he had proved his worth, his bravery and loyalty, never would he ever allow anyone to deride him, insult or betray him.

He would never have guessed that his own flesh and blood would soon do just that.

  
Several days later, Athos’ sister Amelia and her two sons were visiting Paris. She was a widowed woman of means, and was paying a visit to the Garrison to see her brother.

Athos loved his sister dearly, and by extension his nephews, but in truth he was extremely disappointed in them as young men. Francois, seventeen, was decidedly worse than Henri, fourteen; it was unfortunate since Henri being the younger of the two, could hardly be blamed for his general lack of manners and compassion. He looked up to his older brother dearly, and it was incredibly sad in a way that his character was being shaped by the likes of Francois.

Francois, spoiled beyond belief, had rarely shown any regard for anyone except himself. And based on his mother’s position in life, he was rarely if ever called upon to answer for his cruelty towards others, especially those of which he felt was beneath him, which seemed to be most people.

His sister’s visit was a brief one, and incredibly pleasant. She had come to the Garrison with Francois and Henri, who shortly afterwards, departed to parts unknown. Amelia and Athos then caught up on each other’s lives before she and her sons returned home. 

  
The next morning, Athos was joined by Aramis and Porthos around the Garrison table. D’Artagnan, who had snagged night watch duty the night before, was still resting in his room. 

“So how was your visit with your sister?” Aramis asked.

“Very enjoyable, actually,” Athos replied.

“And your nephews?”

‘They are…they are fine,” Athos said, deciding to leave it at that.

Aramis smirked.

“Athos, I know this may sound like a strange question. I’m sure you love your nephews. But- do you…like them very much? As people?”

Athos’ reaction to the question spoke volumes. Instead of confusion at Aramis’ query, he grinned knowingly and merely asked, “What did they do now?”

“Last night, I saw them speaking to D’Artagnan, who had just begun his watch. They were laughing, and D’Artagnan was smiling, and it seemed a pleasant enough conversation was being had by all.

“As I began to get closer, however, it seemed from the set of D’Artagnan’s posture that he appeared a bit…shy or deferential. His smile seemed a bit forced. Then I started to hear that your nephews were saying. At first I was still too far away to make it all out, but your nephews seemed to be talking about D’Artagnan and not to him. I believe I heard the older one say something like ‘I bet he doesn’t even know what jeu de paume is!’. The younger one was laughing; then your older nephew said something like ‘I bet he doesn’t even know what a FORK is!’.

“I reached the three of them just as your older nephew, who was by then laughing uncontrollably, asked D’Artagnan, ‘Hey D’Artagnan from Lupiac in Gascony- do you know what a FORK is?’” 

Athos was shaking his head. His fury was also on the rise.

Aramis continued. “By the time I interrupted, D’Artagnan turned to me and looked mortified- why, I cannot tell you. But when I asked your nephews what was going on, they were both still so inconsolably hysterical that they almost couldn’t speak. The older one pointed to D’Artagnan in a derisive manner; forgive me, Athos- I proceeded to rip into your nephews and in no uncertain terms told them that their behavior towards D’Artagnan was reprehensible. Whilst the youngest was taken aback a bit, the older of the two proceeded to look unto me as if I had quite the nerve to speak to him in such a manner.

“They walked off, your older nephew spitting out ‘glos pautonnier’ to me as they both walked away.”

“They- he called you-“ Athos looked as if he was going to explode. 

Porthos gritted his teeth and added “You should have whipped ‘is hide!”

“I don’t think D’Artagnan heard him, because he may have not stuck up for himself, but I doubt he would have let him say that to me. You know how he is about defending our honor. 

“In any event, I asked D’Artagnan what had transpired and he seemed a bit meek to share too many details. He said they started innocently enough with them asking about who he was and where he was from, and from there it took on more of an insulting tone. When I asked him why he didn’t pummel them, or at least tell them to go chase a cat, he simply shrugged his shoulders and said, ‘they’re Athos’nephews.’”

‘And what the ‘ell does _that_ mean?” Porthos asked.

“He should have thrashed them within an inch of their lives!” Athos shouted. “It would be the least of what they deserved. And now that they’ve taken their leave, they can’t even be made to apologize to the boy.”

Aramis said, “Athos my brother, no offense, but having met enough young men in my day like your nephews, can you honestly say that any apology emanating from your nephews’ lips would in any way be sincere? Isn’t it likely that the only way they would in fact apologize would be under fear of a thrashing, and as such be nothing but coerced?”

Athos calmed at that; of course Aramis was right. He would loathe to admit that his two nephews were beyond redemption, but in truth at this stage he knew they were each incapable of engendering the genuine apology that D’Artagnan deserved.

Regardless, Athos was shaking his head. “He shouldn’t have allowed them to speak to him in that manner. He should have-“

“Oh, no- there you go again,” Aramis interrupted. “Getting ready to reprimand D’Artagnan when he was the wronged party- again!” 

Athos calmed when he saw the truth in Aramis’ words.

“Well, then, we can apologize for them, and maybe we now also ‘ave a perfect opportunity to finally give the boy ‘is gift,” Porthos offered. The three of them had been waiting for the right time to do so. Perhaps when they saw him next would be the best time.

  
Later that day, D’Artagnan joined them. Athos asked him, “I heard you met my nephews last night.”

D’Artagnan smiled. “Yes,” is all he offered.

“Did you get along?” he asked.

“Yes. They were very nice,” he replied, without looking directly at his mentor.

“You’re a terrible liar, you know that?”

D’Artagnan glanced over at Athos. Aramis said, “I filled him in on what transpired, D’Artagnan.”

D’Artagnan looked at Aramis with a glare usually relegated to traitors when Athos said, “My older nephew is spoiled rotten, totally devoid of compassion, and has never cared for anyone but himself. And I fear that Henri is learning all of the wrong life lessons from his older brother. In any case, you did not deserve any of the derision they imparted upon you yesterday. It was despicable behavior. I apologize for them.” 

“You need not apologize, Athos. But thank you regardless.”

“Why didn’t you set them right, D’Artagnan? You had every right to do so,” Aramis asked.

“I- I wasn’t sure it was my place, what with them being Athos’ family. And judging by their reaction when you scolded them, it seemed it would not have made much of a difference.”

Aramis smirked. “I cannot argue with that, mon ami.”

“Apologies again, D’Artagnan. Gentlemen, perhaps it is time to present this to him.” Athos pulled out a small wrapped package and handed it to D’Artagnan.

“What’s this?” the boy asked, taking the parcel from Athos.

“Something from the three of us,” Porthos answered.

“What for?” D’Artagnan asked.

Athos feigned annoyance and simply said, “Just open it!”

D’Artagnan paused, looking at the three of them, as if seeking permission to proceed. 

“Go ahead!” Porthos prompted.

D’Artagnan was now smiling in anticipation. Once it was unwrapped, his face was a priceless beam of happiness and shock.

It was an ornate crucifix on a leather band. D’Artagnan’s mouth was agape.

“It’s- it’s beautiful. Why- how did you-“

“I mentioned to Porthos and Athos a while back about how your own cross had- been discarded. We banded together to obtain this for you. I know nothing can replace your father’s, but we hope that you will take this as a token of our brotherhood. Take a look at the back of the cross-we wouldn’t wish for you to forget who got it for you,” Aramis instructed.

D’Artagnan obeyed. What he saw there made him catch a breath.

In small lettering were the following words: ‘ATHOS’, spelled out horizontally. Vertically, the letters ‘ARAMI’ descended onto the ‘S’ of ‘ATHOS’. Finally, vertically just above Athos’ name was ‘PORTHOS’, the ‘R’ of which was shared with the ‘R’ of Aramis’ name. Three names, commingled together as brothers. 

It would have been enough, but then D’Artagnan noticed just above his brothers’ shared names were the words ‘ALEXANDRE D’ just above his three brothers’ names. 

“Again, it cannot replace-“ Aramis started before he was pulled into a tight hug.

“Thank you,” D’Artagnan managed to choke out between tears of joy. Porthos was next for a hug, followed by Athos.

The four of them just stood there for a few moments when Porthos finally chimed in, “Perhaps tonight we can celebrate at the Wren! And a round or two of cards!”

“Excellent idea,” Aramis replied. “D’Artagnan? Up for another round of…” he paused, and then proceeded to repeat his imitation of D’Artagnan with a good hand of cards, complete with his eyes popping wide open, and grinning maniacally.

“Aramis! You just wait!” D’artagnan, now laughing, warned his older brother.

“Oh yes, by the way, D’Artagnan,” Porthos interjected. “In case you win, I may not have ever told you about my wife. She’s been ill recently and needs medical-“

“Shut up!” D’Artagnan roared, punching him in the arm, in between his hysterical bout of laughter. 

“That’s if ‘Lightning Mouth’ can even gather his winnings without knocking the table over, or bringing the entire tavern down on top of all of us,” Aramis continued, not being able to help himself. 

“Now, now, gentlemen- enough teasing the boy,” Athos chided them. Then, he said “Now, D’Artagnan, in the interest of your further overall training, you are aware that the Ace is higher than the deuce, are you not?”

‘You too???!!!??” D’Artagnan yelled.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> 'glos pautonnier’- gluttonous evildoer. 
> 
> Well, this is pretty much it, except for a very brief Epilogue, which will be up shortly.


	26. Chapter 26

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> A (very brief) Epilogue.

Epilogue

D’Artagnan came down from the Captain’s office and walked towards his brothers, all huddled around the Garrison table.

Athos said, “Please don’t utter those four words I dread coming out of your mouth most of all- ‘I have a mission!’”

D’Artagnan smiled. “Actually, I asked a favor. Something I’ve been thinking of doing for a while now, and have been feeling guilty about not doing so, especially since I had promised I would.”

“What’s that?” Aramis asked.

“I- asked Treville if there were any pressing missions today and he said there were not. So I asked him if I could visit the Baudry’s today- I explained they were the couple who gave me food and shelter after the Gaudet affair. He said that I could.”

“Real nice, boy. Good for you,” Porthos said, smiling.

“Treville also said that as long as we were back before the day’s end, that you could all join me as well. If you wished to, that is. I want to buy a little something at the Market as a gift for them, so we would not be going empty-handed.”

“They’ll insist on feedin’ us! So I’m in,” Porthos quickly added.

  
After D’Artagnan procured a small basket of fruits at the Market, they all set out to call on Joseph and Caroline Baudry.

When Joseph opened the door, he let out a huge “Oho!”, and then grabbed D’Artagnan in a big hug. D’Artagnan had to hold out his fruit basket for fear of it being crushed.

“It’s wonderful to see you all! Caroline! We have guests!”, he shouted to his wife.

After a few moments, Caroline came to the door. When she saw the four of them, she began to beam brightly. Then she zeroed in on D’Artagnan.

“Look at you! You look so beautiful and healthy! Come here right now!” At which point, D’Artagnan quickly handed off his gift to Joseph, quickly saying “um, this is for you,” before being smothered into another bear-like hug. Definitely a mother bear.

Caroline broke the hug, only to pinch D’Artagnan’s cheek. ‘We’ve been thinking of you and speaking of you constantly. I’m so glad you came!”

“I am sorry that it took so long for a visit. Things have been…interesting, to say the least,” D’Artagnan apologized.

“Well, all of you come inside. I had just begun to cook, but now I can cook for all of us and we can enjoy another fine meal together while we all catch up!”

Porthos was the first to waltz through the threshold.

And so there they were, finding themselves back at the same place where three brothers in all but blood wound up adopting a fourth. 

THE END

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> So that's it. A big THANK YOU for all who let Kudos and commented! They were greatly appreciated.


End file.
